IN 

Mrs.    Phoebe  A.    Hearst 


DUTCH  COURAGE  AND  OTHER 
STORIES 


THE    MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

HEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •   CHICAGO   •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OP  CANADA,  LtD. 

TORONTO 


Ki 


JACK  LONDON,    SAILOR 


PREFACE 

"IVa  never  written  a  line  that  I'd  be 
ashamed  for  my  young  daughters  to  read,  and 
I  never  shall  write  such  a  line!" 

Thus  Jack  London,  well  along  in  his  career. 
And  thus  almost  any  collection  of  his  adven 
ture  stories  is  acceptable  to  young  readers  as 
well  as  to  their  elders.  So,  in  sorting  over 
the  few  manuscripts  still  unpublished  in  book 
form,  while  most  of  them  were  written  pri 
marily  for  boys  and  girls,  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
include  as  appropriate  a  tale  such  as  "  Whose 
Business  Is  to  Live." 

Number  two  of  the  present  group,  "  Typhoon 
Off  the  Coast  of  Japan,"  is  the  first  story 
ever  written  by  Jack  London  for  publication. 
At  the  age  of  seventeen  he  had  returned  from 
his  deep-water  voyage  in  the  sealing  schooner 
Sophie  Sutherland,  and  was  working  thirteen 
hours  a  day  for  forty  dollars  a  month  in  an 


490082 


vi  PREFACE 

Oakland,  California,  jute  mill.  The  San  Fran 
cisco  Call  offered  a  prize  of  twenty-five  dollars 
for  the  best  written  descriptive  article.  Jack's 
mother,  Flora  London,  remembering  that  he 
had  excelled  in  his  school  " compositions," 
urged  him  to  enter  the  contest  by  recalling 
some  happening  of  his  travels.  Grammar 
school,  years  earlier,  had  been  his  sole  disci 
plined  education.  But  his  wide  reading, 
worldly  experience,  and  extraordinary  powers 
of  observation  and  correlation,  enabled  him  to 
command  first  prize.  It  is  notable  that  the 
second  and  third  awards  went  to  students  at 
California  and  Stanford  universities. 

Jack  never  took  the  trouble  to  hunt  up  that 
old  San  Francisco  Call  of  November  12,  1893; 
but  when  I  came  to  write  his  biography,  "The 
Book  of  Jack  London, "  I  unearthed  the  issue, 
and  the  tale  appears  intact  in  my  English  edi 
tion,  published  in  1921.  And  now,  gathering 
material  for  what  will  be  the  final  Jack  Lon 
don  collections,  I  cannot  but  think  that  his  first 
printed  story  will  have  unusual  interest  for  his 
readers  of  all  ages. 

The  boy  Jack's  unexpected  success  in  that 


PREFACE  vii 

virgin  venture  naturally  spurred  him  to  fur^ 
ther  effort.    It  was,  for  one  thing,  the  pleas- 
antest  way  he  had  ever  earned  so  much  money, 
even   if   it    lacked    the    element    of    physical 
prowess  and  danger  that  had  marked  those 
purple  days  with  the  oyster  pirates,  and,  later, 
equally  exciting  passages  with  the  Fish  Patrol. 
He  only  waited  to  catch  up  on  sleep  lost  while 
hammering  out  "  Typhoon  Off  the   Coast  of 
Japan,"  before  applying  himself  to  new  fiction. 
That  was  what  was  the  matter  with  it :  it  was 
sheer  fiction  in  place  of  the  white-hot  realism 
of  the  "true  story"  that  had  brought  him  dis 
tinction.     This   second  venture  he  afterward 
termed  "gush."    It  was  promptly  rejected  by 
the  editor  of  the  Call.    Lacking  experience  in 
such  matters,  Jack  could  not  know  why.    And 
it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  submit  his  manu 
script  elsewhere.    His  fire  was  dampened;  he 
gave  over  writing  and  continued  with  the  jute 
mill  and  innocent  social  diversion  in  company 
with  Louis  Shattuck  and  his  friends,  who  had 
superseded  Jack's  wilder  comrades  and  haz 
ards  of  bay-  and  sea-faring.    This  period,  fol 
lowing  the  publication  of  "Typhoon  Off  the 


viii  PEEFACB 

Coast  of  Japan,"  is  touched  upon  in  his  book 
"John  Barleycorn." 

The  next  that  one  hears  of  attempts  at  writ 
ing  is  when,  during  his  tramping  episode,  he 
showed  some  stories  to  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Ever- 
hard,  in  St.  Joseph,  Michigan.  And  in  the 
ensuing  months  of  that  year,  1894,  she  re 
ceived  other  romances  mailed  at  his  stopping 
places  along  the  eastward  route,  alone  or  with 
Kelly's  Industrial  Army.  As  yet  it  had  not 
sunk  into  his  consciousness  that  his  unyouth- 
ful  knowledge  of  life  in  the  raw  would  be  the 
naeans  of  success  in  literature;  therefore  he 
discoursed  of  imaginary  things  and  persons, 
lords  and  ladies,  days  of  chivalry  and  what  not 
— anything  but  out  of  his  priceless  first-hand 
lore.  At  the  same  time,  however,  he  kept  a 
small  diary  which,  in  the  days  when  he  had 
found  himself,  helped  in  visualizing  his  tramp 
life,  in  "The  Boad." 

The  only  out  and  out  "juvenile"  in  the  Jack 
London  list  prior  to  his  death  is  "The  Cruise 
of  the  Dazzler,"  published  in  1902.  At  that 
it  is  a  good  and  authentic  maritime  study  of 
its  kind,  and  not  lacking  in  honest  thrills. 


PREFACE  ix 

"Tales  of  the  Fish  Patrol"  comes  next  as  a 
book  for  boys ;  but  the  happenings  told  therein 
are  perilous  enough  to  interest  many  an  older 
reader. 

I  am  often  asked  which  of  his  books  have 
made  the  strongest  appeal  to  youth.  The  im 
pulse  is  to  answer  that  it  depends  upon  the 
particular  type  of  youth.  As  example,  there 
lies  before  me  a  letter  from  a  friend:  "Buth 
(she  is  eleven)  has  been  reading  every  book  of 
your  husband's  that  she  can  get  hold  of.  She 
is  crazy  over  the  stories.  I  have  bought 
nearly  all  of  them,  but  cannot  find  'The  Son 
of  the  "Wolf/  'Moon  Face/  and  'Michael 
Brother  of  Jerry.'  Will  you  tell  me  where  I 
can  order  these?"  I  have  not  yet  learned 
Euth's  favorites;  but  I  smile  to  myself  at 
thought  of  the  re-reading  she  may  have  to  do 
when  her  mind  has  more  fully  developed. 

The  youth  of  every  country  who  read  Jack 
London  naturally  turn  to  his  adventure  stories 
—particularly  "The  Call  of  the  Wild"  and 
its  companion  "White  Fang,"  "The  Sea 
Wolf,"  "The  Cruise  of  the  Snark,"  and  my 
own  journal,  "The  Log  of  the  Snark,"  and 


x  PEEFACE 

"Our  Hawaii,"  " Smoke  Bellew  Tales,"  "Ad 
venture,"  "The  Mutiny  of  the  Elsinore,"  as 
well  as  "Before  Adam,"  "The  Game,"  "The 
Abysmal  Brute,"  "The  Road,"  "Jerry  of  the 
Islands"  and  its  sequel  "Michael  Brother  of 
Jerry."  And  because  of  the  last  named,  the 
youth  of  many  lands  are  enrolling  in  the  fa 
mous  Jack  London  Club.  This  was  inspired  by 
Dr.  Francis  H.  Eowley,  President  of  the  Mas 
sachusetts  S.  P.  C.  A.  The  Club  expects  no 
dues.  Membership  is  automatic  through  the 
mere  promise  to  leave  any  playhouse  during 
an  animal  performance.  The  protest  thereby 
registered  is  bound,  in  good  time,  to  do  away 
with  the  abuses  that  attend  animal  training 
for  show  purposes.  "Michael  Brother  of 
Jerry"  was  written  out  of  Jack  London's 
heart  of  love  and  head  of  understanding  of 
animals,  aided  by  a  years '-long  study  of  the 
conditions  of  which  he  treats.  Incidentally 
this  book  contains  one  of  the  most  charming 
bits  of  seafaring  romance  of  the  Southern 
Ocean  that  he  ever  wrote. 

During  the  Great  War,  the  English  speak 
ing  soldiers  called  freely  for   the  foregoing 


PREFACE  xi 

novels,  dubbing  them  "The  Jacklondons " ;  and 
there  was  also  lively  demand  for  "Burning 
Daylight,"  "The  Scarlet  Plague/'  "The  Star 
Bover,"  "The  Little  Lady  of  the  Big  House," 
"The  Valley  of  the  Moon,"  and,  because  of 
its  prophetic  spirit,  "The  Iron  Heel."  There 
was  likewise  a  desire  for  the  short-story  col 
lections,  such  as  "The  God  of  His  Fathers," 
"Children  of  the  Frost,"  "The  Faith  of 
Men,"  "Love  of  Life,"  "Lost  Face,"  "When 
God  Laughs,"  and  later  groups  like  "South 
Sea  Tales,"  "A  Son  of  the  Sun,"  "The  Night 
Born,"  and  "The  House  of  Pride,"  and  a  long 
list  beside. 

But  for  the  serious  minded  youth  of  Amer 
ica,  Great  Britain,  and  all  countries  where 
Jack  London's  work  has  been  translated — 
youth  consideirng  life  with  a  purpose — "Mar 
tin  Eden"  is  the  beacon.  Passing  years  only 
augment  the  number  of  messages  that  find 
their  way  to  me  from  near  and  far,  attesting 
the  worth  to  thoughtful  boys  and  girls,  young 
men  and  women,  of  the  author's  own  forma 
tive  struggle  in  life  and  letters  as  partially 
outlined  in  "Martin  Eden." 


xii  PEEFACE 

The  present  sheaf  of  young  folk's  stories 
were  written  during  the  latter  part  of  that 
battle  for  recognition,  and  my  gathering  of 
them  inside  book  covers  is  pursuant  of  his  own 
intention  at  the  time  of  his  death  on  Novem 
ber  22,  1916. 

— CHAKMIAN  LONDON. 
Jack  London  Ranch, 

Glen  Ellen,  Sonoma  County,  California. 
August  1,  1922. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

DUTCH  COURAGE 1 

TYPHOON  OFF  THE  COAST  OF  JAPAN     ....     21 

THE  LOST  POACHER 32 

THE  BANKS  OF  THE  SACRAMENTO 52 

CHRIS  FARRINGTON,  ABLE  SEAMAN      ....     71 

To  REPEL  BOARDERS 87 

AN  ADVENTURE  IN  THE  UPPER  SEA      ....  100 

BALD-FACE 112 

IN  YEDDO  BAY 119 

WHOSE  BUSINESS  Is  To  LIVE    .  .  135 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 
JACK  LONDON,  SAILOR Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

A  PERFECT  FLUTTER  OF  FLASHES  CAME  BACK  .  8 
HE  OPENED  His  JACKKNIFE  AND  WENT  TO  WORK  46 
JERRY  SWUNG  OUT  OVER  THE  CHASM  ....  65 
CHRIS  GRIPPED  THE  KICKING  SPOKES  ....  78 
" HELLO,  UP  THERE,  WHO  ARE  You?"  ...  106 

VILLA'S  MEN  ARE  ON  THE  LOOT 136 

"SHE'S  A  EEGULAR  SPUNKY  SHE-DEVIL,"  Miss 
DREXEL  AGREED  .  177 


BUTCH  COURAGE 

"JusT  our  luck!" 

Gus  Lafee  finished  wiping  his  hands  and 
sullenly  threw  the  towel  upon  the  rocks.  His 
attitude  was  one  of  deep  dejection.  The  light 
seemed  gone  out  of  the  day  and  the  glory  from 
the  golden  sun.  Even  the  keen  mountain  air 
was  devoid  of  relish,  and  the  early  morning 
no  longer  yielded  its  customary  zest. 

"Just  our  luck!"  Gus  repeated,  this  time 
avowedly  for  the  edification  of  another  young 
fellow  who  was  busily  engaged  in  sousing  his 
head  in  the  water  of  the  lake. 

"What  are  you  grumbling  about,  anyway?" 
Hazard  Van  Dorn  lifted  a  soap-rimmed  face 
questioningly.  His  eyes  were  shut.  "What's 
our  luck?" 

"Look  there!"  Gus  threw  a  moody  glance 
skyward.  "Some  duffer's  got  ahead  of  us. 
We've  been  scooped,  that's  all!" 

Hazard  opened  his  eyes,  and  caught  a  fleet- 


2  DUTCH  COURAGE 

ing  glimpse  of  a  white  flag  waving  arrogantly 
on  the  edge  of  a  wall  of  rock  nearly  a  mile 
above  his  head.  Then  his  eyes  closed  with  a 
snap,  and  his  face  wrinkled  spasmodically 
Gus  threw  him  the  towel,  and  uncommiserat- 
ingly  watched  him  wipe  out  the  offending  soap. 
He  felt  too  blue  himself  to  take  stock  in  trivial 
ities. 

Hazard  groaned. 

"Does  it  hurt^-much?"  Gus  queried,  coldly, 
without  interest,  as  if  it  were  no  more  than  his 
duty  to  ask  after  the  welfare  of  his  comrade. 

"I  guess  it  does/'  responded  the  suffering 
one. 

"Soap's  pretty  strong,  eh? — Noticed  it  my 
self." 

"  'Tisn't  the  soap.  It's— it's  that  I"  He 
opened  his  reddened  eyes  and  pointed  toward 
the  innocent  white  little  flag.  "That's  what 
hurts." 

Gus  Lafee  did  not  reply,  but  turned  away  to 
start  the  fire  and  begin  cooking  breakfast. 
His  disappointment  and  grief  were  too  deep 
for  anything  but  silence,  and  Hazard,  who  felt 
likewise,  never  opened  his  mouth  as  he  fed 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  3 

the  horses,  nor  once  laid  his  head  against  their 
arching  necks  or  passed  caressing  fingers 
through  their  manes.  The  two  boys  were 
blind,  also,  to  the  manifold  glories  of  Mirror 
Lake  which  reposed  at  their  very  feet.  Nine 
times,  had  they  chosen  to  move  along  its  mar 
gin  the  short  distance  of  a  hundred  yards, 
could  they  have  seen  the  sunrise  repeated; 
nine  times,  from  behind  as  many  successive 
peaks,  could  they  have  seen  the  great  orb  rear 
his  blazing  rim;  and  nine  times,  had  they  but 
looked  into  the  waters  of  the  lake,  could  they 
have  seen  the  phenomena  reflected  faithfully 
and  vividly.  But  all  the  Titanic  grandeur  of 
the  scene  was  lost  to  them.  They  had  been 
robbed  of  the  chief  pleasure  of  their  trip  to 
Yosemite  Valley.  They  had  been  frustrated 
in  their  long-cherished  design  upon  Half 
Dome,  and  hence  were  rendered  disconsolate 
and  blind  to  the  beauties  and  the  wonders  of 
the  place. 

Half  Dome  rears  its  ice-scarred  head  fully 
five  thousand  feet  above  the  level  floor  of 
Yosemite  Valley.  In  the  name  itself  of  this 
great  rock  lies  an  accurate  and  complete  de- 


4  DUTCH  COURAGE 

scription.  Nothing  more  nor  less  is  it  than  a 
cyclopean,  rounded  dome,  split  in  half  as 
cleanly  as  an  apple  that  is  divided  by  a  knife. 
It  is,  perhaps,  quite  needless  to  state  that  but 
one-half  remains,  hence  its  name,  the  other 
half  having  been  carried  away  by  the  great 
ice-river  in  the  stormy  time  of  the  Glacial 
Period.  In  that  dim  day  one  of  those  frigid 
rivers  gouged  a  mighty  channel  from  out  the 
solid  rock.  This  channel .  to-day  is  Yosemite 
Valley.  But  to  return  to  the  Half  Dome.  On 
its  northeastern  side,  by  circuitous  trails  and 
stiff  climbing,  one  may  gain  the  Saddle. 
Against  the  slope  of  the  Dome  the  Saddle 
leans  like  a  gigantic  slab,  and  from  the  top  of 
this  slab,  one  thousand  feet  in  length,  curves 
the  great  circle  to  the  summit  of  the  Dome.  A. 
few  degrees  too  steep  for  unaided  climbing, 
these  one  thousand  feet  defied  for  years  the 
adventurous  spirits  who  fixed  yearning  eyes 
upon  the  crest  above. 

One  day,  a  couple  of  clear-headed  moun 
taineers  had  proceeded  to  insert  iron  eye-bolts 
into  holes  which  they  drilled  into  the  rocK 
every  few  feet  apart.  But  when  they  found 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  5 

themselves  three  hundred  feet  above  the 
Saddle,  clinging  like  flies  to  the  precarious 
wall  with  on  either  hand  a  yawning  abyss, 
their  nerves  failed  them  and  they  abandoned 
the  enterprise.  So  it  remained  for  an  indomi 
table  Scotchman,  one  George  Anderson,  finally 
to  achieve  the  feat.  Beginning  where  they  had 
left  off,  drilling  and  climbing  for  a  week,  he 
had  at  last  set  foot  upon  that  awful  summit  and 
gazed  down  into  the  depths  where  Mirror  Lake 
reposed,  nearly  a  mile  beneath. 

In  the  years  which  followed,  many  bold  men 
took  advantage  of  the  huge  rope  ladder  which 
he  had  put  in  place;  but  one  winter  ladder, 
cables  and  all  were  carried  away  by  the  snow 
and  ice.  True,  most  of  the  eye-bolts,  twisted 
and  bent,  remained.  But  few  men  had  since 
essayed  the  hazardous  undertaking,  and  of 
those  few  more  than  one  gave  up  his  life  on 
the  treacherous  heights,  and  not  one  succeeded. 

But  Gus  Lafee  and  Hazard  Van  Dorn  had 
left  the  smiling  valley-land  of  California  and 
journeyed  into  the  high  Sierras, 'intent  on  the 
great  adventure.  And  thus  it  was  that  their 
disappointment  was  deep  and  grievous  when 


6  DUTCH  COURAGE 

they   awoke  on  this  morning  to   receive   the 
forestalling  message  of  the  little  white  flag. 

"  Camped  at  the  foot  of  the  Saddle  last  night 
and  went  up  at  the  first  peep  of  day,"  Hazard 
ventured,  long  after  the  silent  breakfast  had 
been  tucked  away  and  the  dishes  washed. 

Gus  nodded.  It  was  not  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  a  youth's  spirits  should  long  re 
main  at  low  ebb,  and  his  tongue  was  beginning 
to  loosen. 

" Guess  he's  down  by  now,  lying  in  camp 
and  feeling  as  big  as  Alexander, "  the  other 
went  on.  "And  I  don't  blame  him,  either; 
only  I  wish  it  were  we." 

"You  can  be  sure  he's  down,"  Gus  spoke  up 
at  last.  "It's  mighty  warm  on  that  naked  rock 
with  the  sun  beating  down  on  it  at  this  time  of 
year.  That  was  our  plan,  you  know,  to  go  up 
early  and  come  down  early.  And  any  man, 
sensible  enough  to  get  to  the  top,  is  bound  to 
have  sense  enough  to  do  it  before  the  rock  gets 
hot  and  his  hands  sweaty." 

"And  you  can  be  sure  he  didn't  take  his 
shoes  with  him."  Hazard  rolled  over  on  his 
back  and  lazily  regarded  the  speck  of  flag 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  7 

fluttering  briskly  on  the  sheer  edge  of  the 
precipice.  "Say!"  He  sat  up  with  a  start. 
"What's  that?" 

A  metallic  ray  of  light  flashed  out  from  the 
summit  of  Half  Dome,  then  a  second  and  a 
third.  The  heads  of  both  boys  were  craned 
backward  on  the  instant,  agog  with  excitement. 

"What  a  duffer!"  Gus  cried.  "Why  didn't 
he  come  down  when  it  was  cool?" 

Hazard  shook  his  head  slowly,  as  if  the 
question  were  too  deep  for  immediate  answer 
and  they  had  better  defer  judgment. 

The  flashes  continued,  and  as  the  boys  soon 
noted,  at  irregular  intervals  of  duration  and 
disappearance.  Now  they  were  long,  now 
short;  and  again  they  came  and  went  with 
great  rapidity,  or  ceased  altogether  for  sev 
eral  moments  at  a  time. 

"I  have  it!"  Hazard's  face  lighted  up  with 
the  coming  of  understanding.  "I  have  it! 
That  fellow  up  there  is  trying  to  talk  to  us. 
He's  flashing  the  sunlight  down  to  us  on  a 
pocket-mirror — dot,  dash;  dot,  dash;  don't  you 
see?" 

The  light  also  began  to  break  in  Gus's  face, 


8  DUTCH  COURAGE 

"Ah,  I  know!  It's  what  they  do  in  war-time 
— signaling.  They  call  it  heliographing,  don't 
they?  Same  thing  as  telegraphing,  only  it's 
done  without  wires.  And  they  use  the  same 
dots  and  dashes,  too." 

"Yes,  the  Morse  alphabet.  Wish  I  knew 
it." 

"Same  here.  He  surely  must  have  some 
thing  to  say  to  us,  or  he  wouldn't  be  kicking 
up  all  that  rumpus." 

Still  the  flashes  came  and  went  persistently, 
till  Gus  exclaimed:  "That  chap's  in  trouble, 
that's  what's  the  matter  with  him!  Most 
likely  he's  hurt  himself  or  something  or 
other." 

"Go  on!"  Hazard  scouted. 

Gus  got  out  the  shotgun  and  fired  both  bar 
rels  three  times  in  rapid  succession.  A  per 
fect  flutter  of  flashes  came  back  before  the 
echoes  had  ceased  their  antics.  So  unmistak 
able  was  the  message  that  even  doubting  Haz 
ard  was  convinced  that  the  man  who  had  fore 
stalled  them  stood  in  some  grave  danger. 

"Quick,  Gus,"  he  cried,  "and  pack!  I'll  see 
to  the  horses.  Our  trip  hasn't  come  to 


A   PERFECT    FLUTTER   OF   FLASHES    CAME    BACK 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  9 

nothing,  after  all.  We've  got  to  go  right  up 
Half  Dome  and  rescue  him.  Where's  the 
map?  How  do  we  get  to  the  Saddle?" 

"  *  Taking  the  horse-trail  below  the  Vernal 
Falls,'  "  Gus  read  from  the  guide-book,  "  'one 
mile  of  brisk  traveling  brings  the  tourist  to 
the  world-famed  Nevada  Fall.  Close  by,  ris 
ing  up  in  all  its  pomp  and  glory,  the  Cap  of 
Liberty  stands  guard " 

"Skip  all  that!"  Hazard  impatiently  inter 
rupted.  "The  trail's  what  we  want." 

"Oh,  here  it  is!  *  Folio  wing  the  trail  up  the 
side  of  the  fall  will  bring  you  to  the  forks. 
The  left  one  leads  to  Little  Yo Semite  Valley, 
Cloud's  Best,  and  other  points.'  " 

"Hold  on;  that'll  do !  I've  got  it  on  the  map 
now,"  again  interrupted  Hazard.  "From  the 
Cloud's  Best  trail  a  dotted  line  leads  off  to 
Half  Dome.  That  shows  the  trail's  aban 
doned.  We'll  have  to  look  sharp  to  find  it. 
It's  a  day's  journey." 

"And  to  think  of  all  that  traveling,  when 
right  here  we're  at  the  bottom  of  the  Dome!" 
Gus  complained,  staring  up  wistfully  at  the 
goal. 


10  DUTCH  COURAGE 

"That's  because  this  is  Yosemite,  and  all  the 
more  reason  for  us  to  hurry.  Come  on!  Be 
lively,  now!" 

Well  used  as  they  were  to  trail  life,  but 
few  minutes  sufficed  to  see  the  camp  equipage 
on  the  backs  of  the  packhorses  and  the  boys 
in  the  saddle.  In  the  late  twilight  of  that  eve 
ning  they  hobbled  their  animals  in  a  tiny 
mountain  meadow,  and  cooked  coffee  and 
bacon  for  themselves  at  the  very  base  of  the 
Saddle.  Here,  also,  before  they  turned  into 
their  blankets,  they  found  the  camp  of  the  un 
lucky  stranger  who  was  destined  to  spend  the 
night  on  the  naked  roof  of  the  Dome. 

Dawn  was  brightening  into  day  when  the 
panting  lads  threw  themselves  down  at  the 
summit  of  the  Saddle  and  began  taking  off 
their  shoes.  Looking  down  from  the  great 
height,  they  seemed  perched  upon  the  ridge 
pole  of  the  world,  and  even  the  snow-crowned 
Sierra  peaks  seemed  beneath  them.  Directly 
below,  on  the  one  hand,  lay  Little  Yosemite 
Valley,  half  a  mile  deep;  on  the  other  hand, 
Big  Yosemite,  a  mile.  Already  the  sun's  rays 
were  striking  about  the  adventurers,  but  the 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  11 

darkness  of  night  still  shrouded  the  two  great 
gulfs  into  which  they  peered.  And  above 
them,  bathed  in  the  full  day,  rose  only  the 
majestic  curve  of  the  Dome. 

"What's  that  for?"  Gus  asked,  pointing  to 
a  leather-shielded  flask  which  Hazard  was  se 
curely  fastening  in  his  shirt  pocket. 

"Dutch  courage,  of  course/'  was  the  reply. 
"We'll  need  all  our  nerve  in  this  undertaking, 
and  a  little  bit  more,  and,"  he  tapped  the  flask 
significantly,  "here's  the  little  bit  more." 

"Good  idea,"  Gus  commented. 

How  they  had  ever  come  possessed  of  this 
erroneous  idea,  it  would  be  hard  to  discover; 
but  they  were  young  yet,  and  there  remained 
for  them  many  uncut  pages  of  life.  Believers, 
also,  in  the  efficacy  of  whisky  as  a  remedy  for 
snake-bite,  they  had  brought  with  them  a  fair 
supply  of  medicine- chest  liquor.  As  yet  they 
had  not  touched  it. 

"Have  some  before  we  start f"  Hazard 
asked. 

Gus  looked  into  the  gulf  and  shook  his  head. 
"Better  wait  till  we  get  up  higher  and  the 
climbing  is  more  ticklish." 


12  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Some  seventy  feet  above  them  projected  the 
first  eye-bolt.  The  winter  accumulations  of 
ice  had  twisted  and  bent  it  down  till  it  did 
not  stand  more  than  a  bare  inch  and  a  half 
above  the  rock — a  most  difficult  object  to  lasso 
as  such  a  distance.  Time  and  again  Hazard 
coiled  his  lariat  in  true  cowboy  fashion  and 
made  the  cast,  and  time  and  again  was  he  baf 
fled  by  the  elusive  peg.  Nor  could  Gus  do  bet 
ter.  Taking  advantage  of  inequalities  in  the 
surface,  they  scrambled  twenty  feet  up  the 
Dome  and  found  they  could  rest  in  a  shallow 
crevice.  The  cleft  side  of  the  Dome  was  so 
near  that  they  could  look  over  its  edge  from 
the  crevice  and  gaze  down  the  smooth,  vertical 
wall  for  nearly  two  thousand  feet.  It  was  yet 
too  dark  down  below  for  them  to  see  farther. 

The  peg  was  now  fifty  feet  away,  but  the 
path  they  must  cover  to  get  to  it  was  quite 
smooth,  and  ran  at  an  inclination  of  nearly 
fifty  degrees.  It  seemed  impossible,  in  that  in 
tervening  space,  to  find  a  resting-place.  Either 
the  climber  must  keep  going  up,  or  he  must 
slide  down;  he  could  not  stop.  But  just  here 
rose  the  danger.  The  Dome  was  sphere- 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  13 

shaped,  and  if  he  should  begin  to  slide,  his 
course  would  be,  not  to  the  point  from  which 
he  had  started  and  where  the  Saddle  would 
catch  him,  but  off  to  the  south  toward  Little 
Yosemite.  This  meant  a  plunge  of  half  a  mile. 

"I'll  try  it,"  Gus  said  simply. 

They  knotted  the  two  lariats  together,  so 
that  they  had  over  a  hundred  feet  of  rope  be 
tween  them;  and  then  each  boy  tied  an  end 
to  his  waist. 

"If  I  slide,"  Gus  cautioned,  "come  in  on  the 
slack  and  brace  yourself.  If  you  don't,  you'll 
follow  me,  that's  all!" 

"Ay,  ay!"  was  the  confident  response. 
"Better  take  a  nip  before  you  start?" 

Gus  glanced  at  the  proffered  bottle.  He 
knew  himself  and  of  what  he  was  capable. 
"Wait  till  I  make  the  peg  and  you  join  me.  All 
ready?" 

"Ay." 

He  struck  out  like  a:  cat,  on  all  fours,  claw 
ing  energetically  as  he  urged  his  upward  prog 
ress,  his  comrade  paying  out  the  rope  care 
fully.  At  first  his  speed  was  good,  but  gradu 
ally  it  dwindled.  Now  he  was  fifteen  feet  from 


14  DUTCH  COURAGE 

the  peg,  now  ten,  now  eight — but  going,  oh,  so 
slowly!  Hazard,  looking  up  from  his  crevice, 
felt  a  contempt  for  him  and  disappointment  in 
him.  It  did  look  easy.  Now  Gus  was  five  feet 
away,  and  after  a  painful  effort,  four  feet. 
But  when  only  a  yard  intervened,  he  came  to 
a  standstill — not  exactly  a  standstill,  for,  like 
a  squirrel  in  a  wheel,  he  maintained  his  posi 
tion  on  the  face  of  the  Dome  by  the  most  des 
perate  clawing. 

He  had  failed,  that  was  evident.  The  ques 
tion  now  was,  how  to  save  himself.  With  a 
sudden,  catlike  movement  he  whirled  over  on 
his  back,  caught  his  heel  in  a  tiny,  saucer- 
shaped  depression  and  sat  up.  Then  his  cour 
age  failed  him.  Day  had  at  last  penetrated 
to  the  floor  of  the  valley,  and  he  was  appalled 
at  the  frightful  distance. 

"Go  ahead  and  make  it!"  Hazard  ordered; 
but  Gus  merely  shook  his  head. 

"Then  come  down!" 

Again  he  shook  his  head.  This  was  his  or 
deal,  to  sit,  nerveless  and  insecure,  on  the 
brink  of  the  precipice.  But  Hazard,  lying 
safely  in  his  crevice,  now  had  to  face  his  own 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  15 

ordeal,  but  one  of  a  different  nature.  When 
Gus  began  to  slide — as  he  soon  must — would 
he,  Hazard,  be  able  to  take  in  the  slack  and 
then  meet  the  shock  as  the  other  tautened  the 
rope  and  darted  toward  the  plunge  ?  It  seemed 
doubtful.  And  there  he  lay,  apparently  safe, 
but  in  reality  harnessed  to  death.  Then  rose 
the  temptation.  Why  not  cast  off  the  rope 
about  his  waist?  He  would  be  safe  at  all 
events.  It  was  a  simple  way  out  of  the  diffi 
culty.  There  ,was  no  need  that  two  should 
perish.  But  it  was  impossible  for  such  tempta 
tion  to  overcome  his  pride  of  race,  and  his 
own  pride  in  himself  and  in  his  honor.  So 
the  rope  remained  about  him. 

"Come  down!"  he  ordered;  but  Gus  seemed 
to  have  become  petrified. 

"Come  down,"  he  threatened,  "or  I'll  drag 
you  down!"  He  pulled  on  the  rope  to  show 
he  was  in  earnest. 

"Don't  you  dare!"  Gus  articulated  through 
his  clenched  teeth. 

"Sure,  I  will,  if  you  don't  come!"  Again  he 
jerked  the  rope. 

With  a  despairing  gurgle  Gus  started,  doing 


16  DUTCH  COURAGE 

his  best  to  work  sideways  from  the  plunge. 
Hazard,  every  sense  on  the  alert,  almost  exult 
ing  in  his  perfect  coolness,  took  in  the  slack 
with  deft  rapidity.  Then,  as  the  rope  began 
to  tighten,  he  braced  himself.  The  shock  drew 
him  half  out  of  the  crevice;  but  he  held  firm 
and  served  as  the  center  of  the  circle,  while 
Gus,  with  the  rope  as  a  radius,  described  the 
circumference  and  ended  up  on  the  extreme 
southern  edge  of  the  Saddle.  A  few  moments 
later  Hazard  was  offering  him  the  flask. 

"Take  some  yourself, "  Gus  said. 

"No;  you.    I  don't  need  it." 

"And  I'm  past  needing  it."  Evidently  Gus 
was  dubious  of  the  bottle  and  its  contents. 

Hazard  put  it  away  in  his  pocket.  "Are 
you  game,"  he  asked,  "or  are  you  going  to 
give  it  up?" 

"Never!"  Gus  protested.  "I  am  game. 
No  Lafee  ever  showed  the  white  feather  yet. 
And  if  I  did  lose  my  grit  up  there,  it  was 
only  for  the  moment — sort  of  like  seasick 
ness.  I'm  all  right  now,  and  I'm  going  to  the 
top." 

"Goodf"  encouraged  Hazard.    "You  lie  in 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  17 

the  crevice  this  time,  and  I'll  show  you  how 
easy  it  is." 

But  Gus  refused.  He  held  that  it  was  easier 
and  safer  for  him  to  try  again,  arguing  that  it 
was  less  difficult  for  his  one  hundred  and  six 
teen  pounds  to  cling  to  the  smooth  rock  than 
for  Hazard's  one  hundred  and  sixty-five;  also 
that  it  was  easier  for  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  pounds  to  bring  a  sliding  one  hundred  and 
sixteen  to  a  stop  than  vice  versa.  And  further, 
that  he  had  the  benefit  of  his  previous  experi 
ence.  Hazard  saw  the  justice  of  this,  although 
it  was  with  great  reluctance  that  he  gave  in. 

Success  vindicated  Gus's  contention.  The 
second  time,  just  as  it  seemed  as  if  his  slide 
would  be  repeated,  he  made  a  last  supreme 
effort  and  gripped  the  coveted  peg.  By  means 
of  the  rope,  Hazard  quickly  joined  him.  The 
next  peg  was  nearly  sixty  feet  away;  but  for 
nearly  half  that  distance  the  base  of  some  gla 
cier  in  the  forgotten  past  had  ground  a  shal 
low  furrow.  Taking  advantage  of  this,  it  was 
easy  for  Gus  to  lasso  the  eye-bolt.  And  it 
seemed,  as  was  really  the  case,  that  the  hard 
est  part  of  the  task  was  over.  True,  the 


18  DUTCH  COURAGE 

curve  steepened  to  nearly  sixty  degrees  above 
them,  but  a  comparatively  unbroken  line  of 
eye-bolts,  six  feet  apart,  awaited  the  lads. 
They  no  longer  had  even  to  use  the  lasso. 
Standing  on  one  peg  it  was  child's  play  to 
throw  the  bight  of  the  rope  over  the  next  and 
to  draw  themselves  up  to  it. 

A  bronzed  and  bearded  man  met  them  at  the 
top  and  gripped  their  hands  in  hearty  fellow 
ship. 

"Talk  about  your  Mont  Blancs!"  lie  ex 
claimed,  pausing  in  the  midst  of  greeting  them 
to  survey  the  mighty  panorama.  "But  there's 
nothing  on  all  the  earth,  nor  over  it,  nor 
under  it,  to  compare  with  this!"  Then  he 
recollected  himself  and  thanked  them  for  com 
ing  to  his  aid.  No,  he  was  not  hurt  or  injured 
in  any  way.  Simply  because  of  his  own  care 
lessness,  just  as  he  had  arrived  at  the  top  the 
previous  day,  he  had  dropped  his  climbing 
rope.  Of  course  it  was  impossible  to  descend 
without  it.  Did  they  understand  heliograph- 
ing?  No?  That  was  strange!  How  did 
they 

"Oh,  we  knew  something  was  the  matter, " 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  19 

Gus  interrupted,  "from  the  way  you  flashed 
when  we  fired  off  the  shotgun." 

"Find  it  pretty  cold  last  night  without  blan 
kets?"  Hazard  queried. 

"I  should  say  so.  I've  hardly  thawed  out 
yet." 

"Have  some  of  this."  Hazard  shoved  the 
flask  over  to  him. 

The  stranger  regarded  him  quite  seriously 
for  a  moment,  then  said,  "My  dear  fellow,  do 
you  see  that  row  of  pegs?  Since  it  is  my  hon 
est  intention  to  climb  down  them  very  shortly, 
I  am  forced  to  decline.  No,  I  don't  think  I'll 
have  any,  though  I  thank  you  just  the  same." 

Hazard  glanced  at  Gus  and  then  put  the 
flask  back  in  his  pocket.  But  when  they  pulled 
the  doubled  rope  through  the  last  eye-bolt  and 
set  foot  on  the  Saddle,  he  again  drew  out  the 
bottle. 

"Now  that  we're  down,  we  don't  need  it," 
he  remarked,  pithily.  "And  I've  about  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  isn't  very  much  in 
Dutch  courage,  after  all."  He  gazed  up  the 
great  curve  of  the  Dome.  "Look  at  what 
we've  done  without  it!" 


20  DUTCH  COUBAGE 

Several  seconds  thereafter  a  party  of  tour 
ists,  gathered  at  the  margin  of  Mirror  Lake, 
were  astounded  at  the  unwonted  phenomenon 
of  a  whisky  flask  descending  upon  them  like  a 
comet  out  of  a  clear  sky;  and  all  the  way  back 
to  the  hotel  they  marveled  greatly  at  the  won 
ders  of  nature,  especially  meteorites. 


TYPHOON  OFF  THE  COAST  OF  JAPAN 

Jack  London's  first  story,  published  at  the  age 
of  seventeen 

IT  was  four  bells  in  the  morning  watch.  We 
had  just  finished  breakfast  when  the  order 
came  forward  for  the  watch  on  deck  to  stand 
by  to  heave  her  to  and  all  hands  stand  by  the 
boats. 

"Port!  hard  a  port!"  cried  our  sailing-mas 
ter.  "Clew  up  the  topsails!  Let  the  flying  jib 
run  down!  Back  the  jib  over  to  wind 
ward  and  run  down  the  foresail!"  And  so 
was  our  schooner  Sophie  Sutherland  hove  to 
off  the  Japan  coast,  near  Cape  Jerimo,  on 
April  10,  1893. 

Then  came  moments  of  bustle  and  confusion. 
There  were  eighteen  men  to  man  the  six  boats. 
Some  were  hooking  on  the  falls,  others  cast 
ing  off  the  lashings;  boat-steerers  appeared 

with  boat-compasses  and  water-breakers,  and 

21 


22  DUTCH  COURAGE 

boat-pullers  with  the  lunch  boxes.  Hunters 
were  staggering  under  two  or  three  shotguns, 
a  rifle  and  heavy  ammunition  box,  all  of  which 
were  soon  stowed  away  with  their  oilskins  and 
mittens  in  the  boats. 

The  sailing-master  gave  his  last  orders,  and 
away  we  went,  pulling  three  pairs  of  oars  to 
gain  our  positions.  We  were  in  the  weather 
boat,  and  so  had  a  longer  pull  than  the  others. 
The  first,  second,  and  third  lee  boats  soon  had 
all  sail  set  and  were  running  off  to  the  south 
ward  and  westward  with  the  wind  beam,  while 
the  schooner  was  running  off  to  leeward  of 
them,  so  that  in  case  of  accident  the  boats 
would  have  fair  wind  home. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning,  but  our  boat- 
steerer  shook  his  head  ominously  as  he 
glanced  at  the  rising  sun  and  prophetically 
muttered:  "Bed  sun  in  the  morning,  sailor 
take  warning. "  The  sun  had  an  angry  look, 
and  a  few  light,  fleecy  "nigger-heads"  in  that 
quarter  seemed  abashed  and  frightened  and 
soon  disappeared. 

Away  off  to  the  northward  Cape  Jerimo 
reared  its  black,  forbidding  head  like  some 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  23 

huge  monster  rising  from  the  deep.  The 
winter's  snow,  not  yet  entirely  dissipated  by 
the  sun,  covered  it  in  patches  of  glistening 
white,  over  which  the  light  wind  swept  on  its 
way  out  to  sea.  Huge  gulls  rose  slowly,  flut 
tering  their  wings  in  the  light  breeze  and  strik 
ing  their  webbed  feet  on  the  surface  of  the 
water  for  over  half  a  mile  before  they  could 
leave  it.  Hardly  had  the  patter,  patter  died 
away  when  a  flock  of  sea  quail  rose,  and  with 
whistling  wings  flew  away  to  windward,  where 
members  of  a  large  band  of  whales  were  dis 
porting  themselves,  their  blowings  sounding 
like  the  exhaust  of  steam  engines.  The  harsh, 
discordant  cries  of  a  sea-parrot  grated  un 
pleasantly  on  the  ear,  and  set  half  a  dozen 
alert  in  a  small  band  of  seals  that  were  ahead 
of  us.  Away  they  went,  breaching  and  jump 
ing  entirely  out  of  water.  A  sea-gull  with 
slow,  deliberate  flight  and  long,  majestic 
curves  circled  round  us,  and  as  a  reminder  of 
home  a  little  English  sparrow  perched  im 
pudently  on  the  fo 'castle  head,  and,  cocking 
his  head  on  one  side,  chirped  merrily.  The 
boats  were  soon  among  the  seals,  and  the 


24  DUTCH  COURAGE 

bang!  bang!  of  the  guns  could  be  heard  from 
down  to  leeward. 

The  wind  was  slowly  rising,  and  by  three 
o'clock  as,  with  a  dozen  seals  in  our  boat,  we 
were  deliberating  whether  to  go  on  or  turn 
back,  the  recall  flag  was  run  up  at  the 
schooner's  mizzen — a  sure  sign  that  with  the 
rising  wind  the  barometer  was  falling  and  that 
our  sailing-master  was  getting  anxious  for  the 
welfare  of  the  boats. 

Away  we  went  before  the  wind  with  a  single 
reef  in  our  sail.  With  clenched  teeth  sat  the 
boat-steerer,  grasping  the  steering  oar  firmly 
with  both  hands,  his  restless  eyes  on  the  alert 
— a  glance  at  the  schooner  ahead,  as  we  rose 
on  a  sea,  another  at  the  mainsheet,  and  then 
one  astern  where  the  dark  ripple  of  the  wind 
on  the  water  told  him  of  a  coming  puff  or  a 
large  white-cap  that  threatened  to  overwhelm 
us.  The  waves  were  holding  high  carnival, 
performing  the  strangest  antics,  as  with  wild 
glee  they  danced  along  in  fierce  pursuit — now 
up,  now  down,  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
until  some  great  sea  of  liquid  green  with  its 
milk-white  crest  of  foam  rose  from  the  ocean's 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  25 

throbbing  bosom  and  drove  the  others  from 
view.  But  only  for  a  moment,  for  again  under 
new  forms  they  reappeared.  In  the  sun's  path 
they  wandered,  where  every  ripple,  great  or 
small,  every  little  spit  or  spray  looked  like 
molten  silver,  where  the  water  lost  its  dark 
green  .color  and  became  a  dazzling,  silvery 
flood,  only  to  vanish  and  become  a  wild  waste 
of  sullen  turbulence,  each  dark  foreboding  sea 
rising  and  breaking,  then  rolling  on  again. 
The  dash,  the  sparkle,  the  silvery  light  soon 
vanished  with  the  sun,  which  became  obscured 
by  black  clouds  that  were  rolling  swiftly  in 
from  the  west,  northwest;  apt  heralds  of  the 
coming  storm. 

We  soon  reached  the  schooner  and  found 
ourselves  the  last  aboard.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  seals  were  skinned,  boats  and  decks 
washed,  and  we  were  down  below  by  the  roar 
ing  fo 'castle  fire,  with  a  wash,  change  of 
clothes,  and  a  hot,  substantial  supper  before 
us.  Sail  had  been  put  on  the  schooner,  as  we 
had  a  run  of  seventy-five  miles  to  make  to 
the  southward  before  morning,  so  as  to  get 
in  the  midst  of  the  seals,  out  of  which  we 


26  DUTCH  COURAGE 

had  strayed  during  the  last  two  days'  hunt 
ing. 

We  had  the  first  watch  from  eight  to  mid 
night.  The  wind  was  soon  blowing  half  a 
gale,  and  our  sailing-master  expected  little 
sleep  that  night  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the 
poop.  The  topsails  were  soon  clewed  up  and 
made  fast,  then  the  flying  jib  run  down  and 
furled.  Quite  a  sea  was  rolling  by  this  time, 
occasionally  breaking  over  the  decks,  flood 
ing  them  and  threatening  to  smash  the  boats. 
At  six  bells  we  were  ordered  to  turn  them  over 
and  put  on  storm  lashings.  This  occupied  us 
till  eight  bells,  when  we  were  relieved  by  the 
mid-watch.  I  was  the  last  to  go  below,  doing 
so  just  as  the  watch  on  deck  was  furling  the 
spanker.  Below  all  were  asleep  except  our 
green  hand,  the  "bricklayer,"  who  was  dying 
of  consumption.  The  wildly  dancing  move 
ments  of  the  sea  lamp  cast  a  pale,  flickering 
light  through  the  fo 'castle  and  turned  to 
golden  honey  the  drops  of  water  on  the  yelj 
low  oilskins.  In  all  the  corners  dark  shadows 
seemed  to  come  and  go,  while  up  in  the  eyes 
of  her,  beyond  the  pall  bits,  descending  from 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  27 

deck  to  deck,  where  they  seemed  to  lurk  like 
some  dragon  at  the  cavern 's  mouth,  it  was 
dark  as  Erebus.  Now  and  again,  the  light 
seemed  to  penetrate  for  a  moment  as  the 
schooner  rolled  heavier  than  usual,  only  to 
recede,  leaving  it  darker  and  blacker  than 
before.  The  roar  of  the  wind  through  the  rig 
ging  came  to  the  ear  muffled  like  the  distant 
rumble  of  a  train  crossing  a  trestle  or  the  surf 
on  the  beach,  while  the  loud  crash  of  the  seas 
on  her  weather  bow  seemed  almost  to  rend 
the  beams  and  planking  asunder  as  it  re 
sounded  through  the  fo 'castle.  The  creaking 
and  groaning  of  the  timbers,  stanchions,  and 
bulkheads,  as  the  strain-  the  vessel  was  under 
going  was  felt,  served  to  drown  the  groans  of 
the  dying  man  as  he  tossed  uneasily  in  his 
bunk.  The  working  of  the  foremast  against 
the  deck  beams  caused  a  shower  of  flaky  pow 
der  to  fall,  and  sent  another  sound  mingling 
with  the  tumultous  storm.  Small  cascades  of 
water  streamed  from  the  pall  bits  from  the  fo'- 
castle  head  above,  and,  joining  issue  with  the 
streams  from  the  wet  oilskins,  ran  along  the 
floor  and  disappeared  aft  into  the  main  hold. 


28  DUTCH  COURAGE 

At  two  bells  in  the  middle  watch — that  is, 
in  land  parlance  one  o'clock  in  the  morning — 
the  order  was  roared  out  on  the  fo 'castle:  "All 
hands  on  deck  and  shorten  sail!" 

Then  the  sleepy  sailors  tumbled  out  of  their 
bunk  and  into  their  clothes,  oil-skins,  and  sea- 
boots  and  up  on  deck.  'Tis  when  that  order 
comes  on  cold,  blustering  nights  that  "Jack" 
grimly  mutters:  "Who  would  not  sell  a  farm 
and  go  to  sea?" 

It  was  on  deck  that  the  force  of  the  wind 
could  be  fully  appreciated,  especially  after 
leaving  the  stifling  fo 'castle.  It  seemed  to 
stand  up  against  you  like  a  wall,  making  it 
almost  impossible  to  move  on  the  heaving 
decks  or  to  breathe  as  the  fierce  gusts  came 
dashing  by.  The  schooner  was  hove  to  under 
jib,  foresail,  and  mainsail.  We  proceeded  to 
lower  the  foresail  and  make  it  fast.  The  night 
was  dark,  greatly  impeding  our  labor.  Still, 
though  not  a  star  or  the  moon  could  pierce  the 
black  masses  of  storm  clouds  that  obscured 
the  sky  as  they  swept  along  before  the  gale, 
nature  aided  us  in  a  measure.  A  soft  light 
emanated  from  the  movement  of  the  ocean. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  29 

Each  mighty  sea,  all  phosphorescent  and  glow 
ing  with  the  tiny  lights  of  myriads  of  animal 
cule,  threatened  to  overwhelm  us  with  a  de 
luge  of  fire.  Higher  and  higher,  thinner  and 
thinner,  the  crest  grew  as  it  began  to  curve 
and  overtop  preparatory  to  breaking,  until 
with  a  roar  it  fell  over  the  bulwarks,  a  mass 
of  soft  glowing  light  and  tons  of  water  which 
sent  the  sailors  sprawling  in  all  directions  and 
left  in  each  nook  and  cranny  little  specks  of 
light  that  glowed  and  trembled  till  the  next 
sea  washed  them  away,  depositing  new  ones 
in  their  places.  Sometimes  several  seas  fol 
lowing  each  other  with  great  rapidity  and 
thundering  down  on  our  decks  filled  them  full 
to  the  bulwarks,  but  soon  they  were  dis 
charged  through  the  lee  scuppers. 

To  reef  the  mainsail  we  were  forced  to  run 
off  before  the  gale  under  the  single  reefed  jib. 
By  the  time  we  had  finished  the  wind  had 
forced  up  such  a  tremendous  sea  that  it  was 
impossible  to  heave  her  to.  Away  we  flew 
on  the  wings  of  the  storm  through  the  muck 
and  flying  spray.  A  wind  sheer  to  starboard, 
then  another  to  port  as  the  enormous  seas 


30  DUTCH  COURAGE 

struck  the  schooner  astern  and  nearly 
broached  her  to.  As  day  broke  we  took  in 
the  jib,  leaving  not  a  sail  unfurled.  Since  we 
had  begun  scudding  she  had  ceased  to  take 
the  seas  over  her  bow,  but  amidships  they 
broke  fast  and  furious.  It  was  a  dry  storm  in 
the  matter  of  rain,  but  the  force  of  the  wind 
filled  the  air  with  fine  spray,  which  flew  as 
high  as  the  crosstrees  and  cut  the  face  like 
a  knife,  making  it  impossible  to  see  over  a 
hundred  yards  ahead.  The  sea  was  a  dark 
lead  color  as  with  long,  slow,  majestic  roll  it 
was  heaped  up  by  the  wind  into  liquid  moun 
tains  of  foam.  The  wild  antics  of  the  schooner 
were  sickening  as  she  forged  along.  She  would 
almost  stop,  as  though  climbing  a  mountain, 
then  rapidly  rolling  to  right  and  left  as  she 
gained  the  summit  of  a  huge  sea,  she  steadied 
herself  and  paused  for  a  moment  as  though 
affrighted  at  the  yawning  precipice  before  her. 
Like  an  avalanche,  she  shot  forward  and  down 
as  the  sea  astern  struck  her  with  the  force  of 
a  thousand  battering  rams,  burying  her  bow 
to  the  catheads  in  the  milky  foam  at  the  bot 
tom  that  came  on  deck  in  all  directions— for- 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  31 

ward,  astern,  to  right  and  left,  through  the 
hawse-pipes  and  over  the  rail. 

The  wind  began  to  drop,  and  by  ten  o'clock 
we  were  talking  of  heaving  her  to.  We  passed 
a  ship,  two  schooners,  and  a  four-masted  bark- 
entine  under  the  smallest  of  canvas,  and  at 
eleven  o'clock,  running  up  the  spanker  and 
jib,  we  hove  her  to,  and  in  another  hour  we 
were  beating  back  again  against  the  aftersea 
under  full  sail  to  regain  the  sealing  ground 
away  to  the  westward. 

Below,  a  couple  of  men  were  sewing  the 
" bricklayer's"  body  in  canvas  preparatory  to 
the  sea  burial.  And  so  with  the  storm  passed 
away  the  "bricklayer's"  soul. 


THE  LOST  POACHER 

"BuT  they  won't  take  excuses.  You're 
across  the  line,  and  that's  enough.  They'll 
take  you.  In  you  go,  Siberia  and  the  salt 
mines.  And  as  for  Uncle  Sam,  why,  what's  he 
to  know  about  it  f  Never  a  word  will  get  back 
to  the  States.  'The  Mary  Thomas/  the  papers 
will  say,  'the  Mary  Thomas  lost  with  all 
hands.  Probably  in  a  typhoon  in  the  Japa 
nese  seas.'  That's  what  the  papers  will  say, 
and  people,  too.  In  you  go,  Siberia  and  the 
salt-mines.  Dead  to  the  world  and  kith  and 
kin,  though  you  live  fifty  years." 

In  such  manner  John  Lewis,  commonly 
known  as  the  " sea-lawyer,"  settled  the  mat 
ter  out  of  hand. 

It  was  a  serious  moment  in  the  forecastle  of 
the  Mary  Thomas.  No  sooner  had  the  watch 
below  begun  to  talk  the  trouble  over,  than  the 
watch  on  deck  came  down  and  joined  them. 
As  there  was  no  wind,  every  hand  could  be 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  33 

spared  with  the  exception  of  the  man  at  the 
wheel,  and  he  remained  only  for  the  sake  of 
discipline.  Even  "Bub"  Eussell,  the  cabin- 
boy,  had  crept  forward  to  hear  what  was  go 
ing  on. 

However,  it  was  a  serious  moment,  as  t'he 
grave  faces  of  the  sailors  bore  witness.  For 
the  three  preceding  months  the  Mary  Thomas 
sealing  schooner,  had  hunted  the  seal  pack 
along  the  coast  of  Japan  and  north  to  Bering 
Sea.  Here,  on  the  Asiatic  side  of  the  sea,  they 
were  forced  to  give  over  the  chase,  or  rather, 
to  go  no  farther;  for  beyond,  the  Eussian 
cruisers  patrolled  forbidden  ground,  where  the 
seals  might  breed  in  peace. 

AL  week  before  she  had  fallen  into  a  heavy 
fog  accompanied  by  calm.  Since  then  the 
fog-bank  had  not  lifted,  and  the  only  wind 
had  been  light  airs  and  catspaws.  This  in 
itself  was  not  so  bad,  for  the  sealing  schoon 
ers  are  never  in  a  hurry  so  long  as  they 
are  in  the  midst  of  the  seals;  but  the  trou 
ble  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  current  at  this 
point  bore  heavily  to  the  north.  Thus  the 
Mary  Thomas  had  unwittingly  drifted  across 


34  DUTCH  COURAGE 

the  line,  and  every  hour  she  was  penetrat 
ing,  unwillingly,  farther  and  farther  into  the 
dangerous  waters  where  the  Eussian  bear  kept 
guard. 

How  far  she  had  drifted  no  man  knew.  The 
sun  had  not  been  visible  for  a  week,  nor  the 
stars,  and  the  captain  had  been  unable  to  take 
observations  in  order  to  determine  his  posi 
tion.  At  any  moment  a  cruiser  might  swoop 
down  and  hale  the  crew  away  to  Siberia.  The 
fate  of  other  poaching  seal-hunters  was  too 
well  known  to  the  men  of  the  Mary  Thomas, 
and  there  was  cause  for  grave  faces. 

"Mine  friends,"  spoke  up  a  German  boat- 
steerer,  "it  vas  a  pad  piziness.  Shust  as  ve 
make  a  big  catch,  und  all  honest,  somedings 
go  wrong,  und  der  Russians  nab  us,  dake  our 
skins  and  our  schooner,  und  send  us  mit  der 
anarchists  to  Siberia.  Ach !  a  pretty  pad  pizi 
ness!" 

"Yes,  that's  where  it  hurts,"  the  sea  lawyer 
went  on.  "Fifteen  hundred  skins  in  the  salt 
piles,  and  all  honest,  a  big  pay-day  coming  to 
every  man  Jack  of  us,  and  then  to  be  captured 
and  lose  it  all!  It'd  be  different  if  we'd  been 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  35 

poaching,   but  it's   all  honest   work  in  open 
water/' 

"But  if  we  haven't  done  anything  wrong, 
they  can't  do  anything  to  us,  can  they!"  Bub 
queried. 

"It  strikes  me  as  'ow  it  ain't  the  proper 
thing  for  a  boy  o'  your  age  shovin'  in  when  'is 
elders  is  talkin',"  protested  an  English  sailor, 
from  over  the  edge  of  his  bunk. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Jack,"  answered  the 
sea-lawyer.  "He's  a  perfect  right  to.  Ain't 
he  just  as  liable  to  lose  his  wages  as  the  rest 
of  us?" 

"Wouldn't  give  thruppence  for  them!"  Jack 
sniffed  back.  He  had  been  planning  to  go 
home  and  see  his  family  in  Chelsea  when  he 
was  paid  off,  and  he  was  now  feeling  rather 
blue  over  the  highly  possible  loss,  not  only  of 
his  pay,  but  of  his  liberty. 

"How  are  they  to  know?"  the  sea-lawyer 
asked  in  answer  to  Bub's  previous  question. 
"Here  we  are  in  forbidden  water.  How  do 
they  know  but  what  we  came  here  of  our  own 
accord?  Here  we  are,  fifteen  hundred  skins  in 
the  hold.  How  do  they  know  whether  we  got 


38  DUTCH  COURAGE 

old  familiar  stars,  rushed  into  view.  When 
all  was  ship-shape,  the  Mary  Thomas  was  ly 
ing  gallantly  over  on  her  side  to  a  beam  wind 
and  plunging  ahead  due  south. 

"Steamer's  lights  ahead  on  the  port  bow, 
sir!"  cried  the  lookout  from  his  station  on  the 
forecastle-head.  There  was  excitement  in  the 
man's  voice. 

The  captain  sent  Bub  below  for  his  night- 
glasses.  Everybody  crowded  to  the  lee-rail  to 
gaze  at  the  suspicious  stranger,  which  already 
began  to  loom  up  vague  and  indistinct.  In 
those  unfrequented  waters  the  chance  was  one 
in  a  thousand  that  it  could  be  anything  else 
than  a  Eussian  patrol.  The  captain  was  still 
anxiously  gazing  through  the  glasses,  when  a 
flash  of  flame  left  the  stranger's  side,  followed 
by  the  loud  report  of  a  cannon.  The  worst 
fears  were  confirmed.  It  was  a  patrol,  evi 
dently  firing  across  the  bows  of  the  Mary 
Thomas  in  order  to  make  her  heave  to. 

"Hard  down  with  your  helm!"  the  captain 
commanded  the  steersman,  all  the  life  gone  out 
of  his  voice.  Then  to  the  crew,  "Back  over 
the  jib  and  foresail !  Eun  down  the  flying  jib ! 


AND  OTHER  STOKIES  39 

Clew  up  the  foretopsail!     And  aft  here  and 
swing  on  to  the  main-sheet!" 

The  Mary  Thomas  ran  into  the  eye  of  the 
wind,  lost  headway,  and  fell  to  courtesying 
gravely  to  the  long  seas  rolling  up  from  the 
west. 

The  cruiser  steamed  a  little  nearer  and  low 
ered  a  boat.  The  sealers  watched  in  heart 
broken  silence.  They  could  see  the  white  bulk 
of  the  boat  as  it  was  slacked  away  to  the 
water,  and  its  crew  sliding  aboard.  They 
could  hear  the  creaking  of  the  davits  and  the 
commands  of  the  officers.  Then  the  boat 
sprang  away  under  the  impulse  of  the  oars, 
and  came  toward  them.  The  wind  had  been 
rising,  and  already  the  sea  was  too  rough  to 
permit  the  frail  craft  to  lie  alongside  the  toss 
ing  schaoner;  but  watching  their  chance,  and 
taking  advantage  of  the  boarding  ropes  thrown 
to  them,  an  officer  and  a  couple  of  men  clam 
bered  aboard.  The  boat  then  sheered  off  into 
safety  and  lay  to  its  oars,  a  young  midship 
man,  sitting  in  the  stern  and  holding  the  yoke- 
lines,  in  charge. 

The  officer,  whose  uniform  disclosed  his  rank 


40  DUTCH  COURAGE 

as  that  of  second  lieutenant  in  the  Russian 
navy,  went  below  with  the  captain  of  the  Mary 
Thomas  to  look  at  the  ship's  papers.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  emerged,  and  upon  his  sail 
ors  removing  the  hatch-covers,  passed  down 
into  the  hold  with  a  lantern  to  inspect  the  salt 
piles.  It  was  a  goodly  heap  which  confronted 
him — fifteen  hundred  fresh  skins,  the  season's 
catch;  and  under  the  circumstances  he  could 
have  had  but  one  conclusion. 

"I  am  very  sorry, "  he  said,  in  broken  Eng 
lish  to  the  sealing  captain,  when  he  again 
came  on  deck,  "but  it  is  my  duty,  in  the  name 
of  the  tsar,  to  seize  your  vessel  as  a  poacher 
caught  with  fresh  skins  in  the  closed  sea.  The 
penalty,  as  you  may  know,  is  confiscation  and 
imprisonment. ' ' 

The  captain  of  the  Mary  Thomas  shrugged 
his  shoulders  in  seeming  indifference,  and 
turned  away.  Although  they  may  restrain  all 
outward  show,  strong  men,  under  unmerited 
misfortune,  are  sometimes  very  close  to  tears. 
Just  then  the  vision  of  his  little  California 
home,  and  of  the  wife  and  two  yellow-haired 
boys,  was  strong  upon  him,  and  there  was  a 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  41 

strange,  choking  sensation  in  his  throat,  which 
made  him  afraid  that  if  he  attempted  to  speak 
he  would  sob  instead. 

And  also  there  was  upon  him  the  duty  he 
owed  his  men.  No  weakness  before  them,  for 
he  must  be  a  tower  of  strength  to  sustain  them 
in  misfortune.  He  had  already  explained  to 
the  second  lieutenant,  and  knew  the  hopeless 
ness  of  the  situation.  As  the  sea-lawyer  had 
said,  the  evidence  was  all  against  him.  So 
he  turned  aft,  and  fell  to  pacing  up  and  down 
the  poop  of  the  vessel  over  which  he  was  no 
longer  commander. 

The  Eussian  officer  now  took  temporary 
charge.  He  ordered  more  of  his  men  aboard, 
and  had  all  the  canvas  clewed  up  and  furled 
snugly  away.  While  this  was  being  done,  the 
boat  plied  back  and  forth  between  the  two 
vessels,  passing  a  heavy  hawser,  which  was 
made  fast  to  the  great  towing-bitts  on  the 
schooner's  forecastle-head.  During  all  this 
work  the  sealers  stood  about  in  sullen 
groups.  It  was  madness  to  think  of  resist 
ing,  with  the  guns  of  a  man-of-war  not  a 
biscuit-toss  away;  but  they  refused  to  lend  a 


42  DUTCH  COURAGE 

hand,  preferring  instead  to  maintain  a  gloomy 
silence. 

Having  accomplished  his  task,  the  lieutenant 
ordered  all  but  four  of  his  men  back  into  the 
boat.  Then  the  midshipman,  a  lad  of  sixteen, 
looking  strangely  mature  and  dignified  in  his 
uniform  and  sword,  came  aboard  to  take  com 
mand  of  the  captured  sealer.  Just  as  the  lieu 
tenant  prepared  to  depart,  his  eyes  chanced  to 
alight  upon  Bub.  Without  a  word  of  warning, 
he  seized  him  by  the  arm  and  dropped  him  over 
the  rail  into  the  waiting  boat;  and  then,  with 
a  parting  wave  of  his  hand,  he  followed  him. 

It  was  only  natural  that  Bub  should  be 
frightened  at  this  unexpected  happening.  All 
the  terrible  stories  he  had  heard  of  the  Eus- 
sians  served  to  make  him  fear  them,  and  now 
returned  to  his  mind  with  double  force.  To 
be  captured  by  them  was  bad  enough,  but  to 
be  carried  off  by  them,  away  from  his  com 
rades,  was  a  fate  of  which  he  had  not 
dreamed. 

"Be  a  good  boy,  Bub,"  the  captain  called  to 
him,  as  the  boat  drew  away  from  the  Mary 
Thomas's  side,  "and  tell  the  truth  I" 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  43 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  he  answered,  bravely 
enough,  by  all  outward  appearance.  He  felt 
a  certain  pride  of  race,  and  was  ashamed  to  be 
a  coward  before  these  strange  enemies,  these 
wild  Kussian  bears. 

"Und  be  politeful!"  the  German  boat-steer- 
er  added,  his  rough  voice  lifting  across  the 
water  like  a  fog-horn. 

Bub  waved  his  hand  in  farewell,  and  his 
mates  clustered  along  the  rail  as  they  an 
swered  with  a  cheering  shout.  He  found  room 
in  the  stern-sheets,  where  he  fell  to  regarding 
the  lieutenant.  He  didn't  look  so  wild  or 
bearish,  after  all — very  much  like  other  men, 
Bub  concluded,  and  the  sailors  were  much  the 
same  as  all  other  man-of-war's  men  he  had 
ever  known.  Nevertheless,  as  his  feet  struck 
the  steel  deck  of  the  cruiser,  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  entered  the  portals  of  a  prison. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  was  left  unheeded. 
The  sailors  hoisted  the  boat  up,  and  swung  it 
in  on  the  davits.  Then  great  clouds  of  black 
smoke  poured  out  of  the  funnels,  and  they 
were  under  way — to  Siberia,  Bub  could  not 
help  but  think.  He  saw  the  Mary  Thomas 


44  DUTCH  COURAGE 

swing  abruptly  into  line  as  she  took  the  pres 
sure  from  the  hawser,  and  her  side-lights,  red 
and  green,  rose  and  fell  as  she  was  towed 
through  the  sea. 

Bub's  eyes  dimmed  at  the  melancholy  sight, 
but — but  just  then  the  lieutenant  came  to  take 
him  down  to  the  commander,  and  he  straight 
ened  up  and  set  his  lips  firmly,  as  if  this  were 
a  very  commonplace  affair  and  he  were  used  to 
being  sent  to  Siberia  every  day  in  the  week. 
The  cabin  in  which  the  commander  sat  was  like 
a  palace  compared  to  the  humble  fittings  of  the 
Mary  Tlfiomas,  and  the  commander  himself,  in 
gold  lace  and  dignity,  was  a  most  august  per 
sonage,  quite  unlike  the  simple  man  who  navi 
gated  his  schooner  on  the  trail  of  the  seal 
pack. 

Bub  now  quickly  learned  why  he  had  been 
brought  aboard,  and  in  the  prolonged  ques 
tioning  which  followed,  told  nothing  but  the 
plain  truth.  The  truth  was  harmless;  only  a 
lie  could  have  injured  his  cause.  He  did  not 
know  much,  except  that  they  had  been  sealing 
far  to  the  south  in  open  water,  and  that  when 
the  calm  and  fog  came  down  upon  them,  being 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  45 

close  to  the  line,  they  had  drifted  across. 
Again  and  again  he  insisted  that  they  had  not 
lowered  a  boat  or  shot  a  seal  in  the  week  they 
had  been  drifting  about  in  the  forbidden  sea; 
but  the  commander  chose  to  consider  all  that 
he  said  to  be  a  tissue  of  falsehoods,  and 
adopted  a  bullying  tone  in  an  effort  to  fright 
en  the  boy.  He  threatened  and  cajoled  by 
turns,  but  failed  in  the  slightest  to  shake 
Bub's  statements,  and  at  last  ordered  him  out 
of  his  presence. 

By  some  oversight,  Bub  was  not  put  in 
anybody's  charge,  and  wandered  up  on  deck 
unobserved.  Sometimes  the  sailors,  in  pass 
ing,  bent  curious  glances  upon  him,  but  other 
wise  he  was  left  strictly  alone.  Nor  could  he 
have  attracted  much  attention,  for  he  was 
small,  the  night  dark,  and  the  watch  on  deck 
intent  on  its  own  business.  Stumbling  over 
the  strange  decks,  he  made  his  way  aft  where 
he  could  look  upon  the  side-lights  of  the  Mary 
Thomas,  following  steadily  in  the  rear. 

For  a  long  while  he  watched,  and  then  lay 
down  in  the  darkness  close  to  where  the  hawser 
passed  over  the  stern  to  the  captured  schooner. 


46  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Once  an  officer  came  up  and  examined  the 
straining  rope  to  see  if  it  were  chafing,  but 
Bub  cowered  away  in  the  shadow  undiscovered. 
This,  however,  gave  him  an  idea  which  con 
cerned  the  lives  and  liberties  of  twenty-two 
men,  and  which  was  to  avert  crushing  sorrow 
from  more  than  one  happy  home  many  thou 
sand  miles  away. 

In  the  first  place,  he  reasoned,  the  crew  were 
all  guiltless  of  any  crime,  and  yet  were  being 
carried  relentlessly  away  to  imprisonment  in 
Siberia — a  living  death,  he  had  heard,  and  he 
believed  it  implicitly.  In  the  second  place,  he 
was  a  prisoner,  hard  and  fast,  with  no  chance 
of  escape.  In  the  third,  it  was  possible  for 
the  twenty-two  men  on  the  Mary  Thomas  to 
escape.  The  only  thing  which  bound  them  was 
a  four-inch  hawser.  They  dared  not  cut  it 
at  their  end,  for  a  watch  was  sure  to  be  main 
tained  upon  it  by  their  Russian  captors;  but 
at  this  end,  ah!  at  his  end 

Bub  did  not  stop  to  reason  further.  Wrig 
gling  close  to  the  hawser,  he  opened  his  jack- 
knife  and  went  to  work.  The  blade  was  not 
very  sharp,  and  he  sawed  away,  rope-yarn  by 


HE    OPENED     HIS     JACKKNIFE    AND     WENT     TO     WORK 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  47 

rope-ya^n,  the  awful  picture  of  the  solitary 
Siberian  exile  he  must  endure  growing  clearer 
and  more  terrible  at  every  stroke.  Such  a  fate 
was  bad  enough  to  undergo  with  one's  com 
rades,  but  to  face  it  alone  seemed  frightful. 
And  besides,  the  very  act  he  was  performing 
was  sure  to  bring  greater  punishment  upon 
him. 

In  the  midst  of  such  somber  thoughts,  he 
heard  footsteps  approaching.  He  wriggled 
away  into  the  shadow.  An  officer  stopped 
where  he  had  been  working,  half-stooped  to 
examine  the  hawser,  then  changed  his  mind 
and  straightened  up.  For  a  few  minutes  he 
stood  there,  gazing  at  the  lights  of  the  captured 
schooner,  and  then  went  forward  again. 

Now  was  the  time!  Bub  crept  back  and 
went  on  sawing.  Now  two  parts  were  severed. 
Now  three.  But  one  remained.  The  tension 
upon  this  was  so  great  that  it  readily  yielded. 
Splash!  The  freed  end  went  overboard.  He 
lay  quietly,  his  heart  in  his  mouth,  listening. 
No  one  on  the  cruiser  but  himself  had  heard. 

He  saw  the  red  and  green  lights  of  the 
Mary  Thomas  grow  dimmer  and  dimmer. 


48  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Then  a  faint  hallo  came  over  the  water  from 
the  Eussian  prize  crew.  Still  nobody  heard. 
The  smoke  continued  to  pour  out  of  the  cruis 
er's  funnels,  and  her  propellers  throbbed  as 
mightily  as  ever. 

What  was  happening  on  the  Mary  Thomas? 
Bub  could  only  surmise;  but  of  one  thing  he 
was  certain:  his  comrades  would  assert  them 
selves  and  overpower  the  four  sailors  and  the 
midshipman.  A  few  minutes  later  he  saw  a 
small  flash,  and  straining  his  ears  heard  the 
very  faint  report  of  a  pistol.  Then,  oh  joy! 
both  the  red  and  green  lights  suddenly  disap 
peared.  The  Mary  Thomas  was  retaken! 

Just  as  an  officer  came  aft,  Bub  crept  for 
ward,  and  hid  away  in  one  of  the  boats.  Not 
an  instant  too  soon.  The  alarm  was  given. 
Loud  voices  rose  in  command.  The  cruiser 
altered  her  course.  An  electric  search-light 
began  to  throw  its  white  rays  across  the  sea, 
here,  there,  everywhere;  but  in  its  flashing 
path  no  tossing  schooner  was  revealed. 

Bub  went  to  sleep  soon  after  that,  nor  did 
he  wake  till  the  gray  of  dawn.  The  engines 
were  pulsing  monotonously,  and  the  water, 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  49 

splashing  noisily,  told  him  the  decks  were  be 
ing  washed  down.  One  sweeping  glance,  and 
he  saw  that  they  were  alone  on  the  expanse  of 
ocean.  The  Mary  Thomas  had  escaped.  As 
he  lifted  his  head,  a  roar  of  laughter  went  tip 
from  the  sailors.  Even  the  officer,  who  or 
dered  him  taken  below  and  locked  up,  could 
not  quite  conceal  the  laughter  in  his  eyes.  Bub 
thought  often  in  the  days  of  confinement  which 
followed,  that  they  were  not  very  angry  with 
him  for  what  he  had  done. 

He  was  not  far  from  right.  There  is  a  cer 
tain  innate  nobility  deep  down  in  the  hearts  of 
all  men,  which  forces  them  to  admire  a  brave 
act,  even  if  it  is  performed  by  an  enemy.  The 
Eussians  were  in  nowise  different  from  other 
men.  True,  a  boy  had  outwitted  them;  but 
they  could  not  blame  him,  and  they  were  sore 
puzzled  as  to  what  to  do  with  him.  It  would 
never  do  to  take  a  little  mite  like  him  in  to 
represent  all  that  remained  of  the  lost  poacher. 

So,  two  weeks  later,  a  United  States  man-of- 
war,  steaming  out  of  the  Eussian  port  of  Vla 
divostok,  was  signaled  by  a  Eussian  cruiser. 
A  boat  passed  between  the  two  ships,  and  a 


50  DUTCH  COURAGE 

small  boy  dropped  over  the  rail  upon  the  deck 
of  the  American  vessel.  A  week  later  he  was 
put  ashore  at  Hakodate,  and  after  some  tele 
graphing,  his  fare  was  paid  on  the  railroad  to 
Yokohama. 

From  the  depot  he  hurried  through  the 
quaint  Japanese  streets  to  the  harbor,  and 
hired  a  sampan  boatman  to  put  him  aboard  a 
certain  vessel  whose  familiar  rigging  had 
quickly  caught  his  eye.  Her  gaskets  were  off, 
her  sails  unfurled;  she  was  just  starting  back 
to  the  United  States.  As  he  came  closer,  a 
crowd  of  sailors  sprang  upon  the  forecastle 
head,  and  the  windlass-bars  rose  and  fell  as 
the  anchor  was  torn  from  its  muddy  bottom. 

"  i  Yankee  ship  come  down  the  ribber!'  "  the 
sea-lawyer's  voice  rolled,  out  as  he  led  the 
anchor  song. 

"  'Pull,  my  bully  boys,  pull!'  "  roared  back 
the  old  familiar  chorus,  the  men's  bodies  lift 
ing  and  bending  to  the  rhythm. 

Bub  Eussell  paid  the  boatman  and  stepped 
on  deck.  The  anchor  was  forgotten.  A 
mighty  cheer  went  up  from  the  men,  and  al 
most  before  he  could  catch  his  breath  he  was 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  51 

on  the  shoulders  of  the  captain,  surrounded 
by  his  mates,  and  endeavoring  to  answer 
twenty  questions  to  the  second. 

The  next  day  a  schooner  hove  to  off  a  Japa 
nese  fishing  village,  sent  ashore  four  sailors 
and  a  little  midshipman,  and  sailed  away. 
These  men  did  not  talk  English,  but  they  had 
money  and  quickly  made  their  way  to  Yoko 
hama.  From  that  day  the  Japanese  village 
folk  never  heard  anything  more  about  them, 
and  they  are  still  a  much-talked-of  mystery. 
As  the  Eussian  government  never  said  any 
thing  about  the  incident,  the  United  States  is 
still  ignorant  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  lost 
poacher,  nor  has  she  ever  heard,  officially, 
of  the  way  in  which  some  of  her  citizens 
"shanghaied"  five  subjects  of  the  tsar.  Even 
nations  have  secrets  sometimes. 


THE  BANKS  OP  THE  SACRAMENTO 

"And  it's  blow,  ye  winds,  heigh-ho, 
For  Cal-i-f  or-ni-o ; 

For  there's  plenty  of  gold  so  I've  been  told, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento !" 

IT  was  only  a  little  boy,  singing  in  a  shrill 
treble  the  sea  chantey  which  seamen  sing  the 
wide  world  over  when  they  man  the  capstan 
bars  and  break  the  anchors  out  for  "Frisco" 
port.  It  was  only  a  little  boy  who  had  never 
seen  the  sea,  but  two  hundred  feet  beneath 
him  rolled  the  Sacramento.  "Young"  Jerry 
he  was  called,  after  "Old"  Jerry,  his  father, 
from  whom  he  had  learned  the  song,  as  well 
as  received  his  shock  of  bright-red  hair,  his 
blue,  dancing  eyes,  and  his  fair  and  inevitably 
freckled  skin. 

For  Old  Jerry  had  been  a  sailor,  and  had 
followed  the  sea  till  middle  life,  haunted  al 
ways  by  the  words  of  the  ringing  chantey. 
Then  one  day  he  had  sung  the  song  in  eaniest, 

62 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  53 

in  an  Asiatic  port,  swinging  and  thrilling  round 
the  capstan-circle  with  twenty  others.  And  at 
San  Francisco  he  turned  his  back  upon  his  ship 
and  upon  the  sea,  and  went  to  behold  with  his 
own  eyes  the  banks  of  the  Sacramento. 

He  beheld  the  gold,  too,  for  he  found  em 
ployment  at  the  Yellow  Dream  mine,  and 
proved  of  utmost  usefulness  in  rigging  the 
great  ore-cables  across  the  river  and  two  hun 
dred  feet  above  its  surface. 

After  that  he  took  charge  of  the  cables  and 
kept  them  in  repair,  and  ran  them  and  loved 
them,  and  became  himself  an  indispensable 
fixture  of  the  Yellow  Dream  mine.  Then  he 
loved  pretty  Margaret  Kelly;  but  she  had  left 
him  and  Young  Jerry,  the  latter  barely  tod 
dling,  to  take  up  her  last  long  sleep  in  the 
little  graveyard  among  the  great  sober  pines. 

Old  Jerry  never  went  back  to  the  sea.  He 
remained  by  his  cables,  and  lavished  upon 
them  and  Young  Jerry  all  the  love  of  his 
nature.  When  evil  days  came  to  the  Yellow 
Dream,  he  still  remained  in  the  employ  of 
the  company  as  watchman  over  the  all  but 
abandoned  property. 


54  DUTCH  COUKAGE 

But  this  morning  he  was  not  visible.  Young 
Jerry  only  was  to  be  seen,  sitting  on  the  cabin 
step  and  singing  the  ancient  chantey.  He  had 
cooked  and  eaten  his  breakfast  all  by  himself, 
and  had  just  come  out  to  take  a  look  at  the 
world.  Twenty  feet  before  him  stood  the  steel 
drum  round  which  the  endless  cable  worked. 
By  the  drum,  snug  and  fast,  was  the  ore-car. 
Following  with  his  eyes  the  dizzy  flight  of  the 
cables  to  the  farther  bank,  he  could  see  the 
other  drum  and  the  other  car. 

The  contrivance  was  worked  by  gravity,  the 
loaded  car  crossing  the  river  by  virtue  of  its 
own  weight,  and  at  the  same  time  dragging 
the  empty  car  back.  The  loaded  car  being 
emptied,  and  the  empty  car  being  loaded  with 
more  ore,  the  performance  could  be  repeated — 
a  performance  which  had  been  repeated  tens 
of  thousands  of  times  since  the  day  Old  Jerry 
became  the  keeper  of  the  cables. 

Young  Jerry  broke  off  his  song  at  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps,  A  tall,  blue- 
shirted  man,  a  rifle  across  the  hollow  of  his 
arm,  came  out  from  the  gloom  of  the  pine- 
trees.  It  was  Hall,  watchman  of  the  Yellow 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  55 

Dragon  mine,  the  cables  of  which  spanned  the 
Sacramento  a  mile  farther  up. 

"  Hello,  younker!"  was  his  greeting. 
"What  yon  doin'  here  by  yonr  lonesome f " 

"Oh,  bachin',"  Jerry  tried  to  answer  un 
concernedly,  as  if  it  were  a  very  ordinary  sort 
of  thing.  "Dad's  away,  you  see." 

"Where's  he  gone  I "  the  man  asked. 

"San  Francisco.  Went  last  night.  His 
brother's  dead  in  the  old  country,  and  he's 
gone  down  to  see  the  lawyers.  Won't  be  back 
till  tomorrow  night." 

So  spoke  Jerry,  and  with  pride,  because  of 
the  responsibility  which  had  fallen  to  him  of 
keeping  an  eye  on  the  property  of  the  Yellow 
Dream,  and  the  glorious  adventure  of  living 
alone  on  the  cliff  above  the  river  and  of  cook 
ing  his  own  meals. 

"Well,  take  care  of  yourself,"  Hall  said, 
"and  don't  monkey  with  the  cables.  I'm  goin' 
to  see  if  I  can't  pick  up  a  deer  in  the  Cripple 
Cow  Canon." 

"It's  goin'  to  rain,  I  think,"  Jerry  said, 
with  mature  deliberation. 

"And  it's  little  I  mind   a  wettin',"  Hall 


56  DUTCH  COURAGE 

laughed,  as  lie  strode  away  among  the 
trees. 

Jerry's  prediction  concerning  rain  was  more 
than  fulfilled.  By  ten  o'clock  the  pines  were 
swaying  and  moaning,  the  cabin  windows 
rattling,  and  the  rain  driving  by  in  fierce 
squalls.  At  half  past  eleven  he  kindled  a  fire, 
and  promptly  at  the  stroke  of  twelve  sat  down 
to  his  dinner. 

No  out-of-doors  for  him  that  day,  he  de 
cided,  when  he  had  washed  the  few  dishes  and 
put  them  neatly  away;  and  he  wondered  how 
wet  Hall  was  and  whether  he  had  succeeded  in 
picking  up  a  deer. 

At  one  o'clock  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  when  he  opened  it  a  man  and  a 
woman  staggered  in  on  the  breast  of  a  great 
gust  of  wind.  They  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spil- 
lane,  ranchers,  who  lived  in  a  lonely  valley  a 
dozen  miles  back  from  the  river. 

"Where's  Hall?"  was  Spillane's  opening 
speech,  and  he  spoke  sharply  and  quickly. 

Jerry  noted  that  he  was  nervous  and  abrupt 
in  his  movements,  and  that  Mrs.  Spillane 
seemed  laboring  under  some  strong  anxiety. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  57 

She  was  a  thin,  washed-out,  worked-out  wo 
man,  whose  life  of  dreary  and  unending  toil 
had  stamped  itself  harshly  upon  her  face.  It 
was  the  same  life  that  had  bowed  her  hus 
band's  shoulders  and  gnarled  his  hands  and 
turned  his  hair  to  a  dry  and  dusty  gray. 

"He's  gone  hunting  up  Cripple  "Cow,"  Jerry 
answered.  "Did  you  want  to  cross?" 

The  woman  began  to  weep  quietly,  while 
Spillane  dropped  a  troubled  exclamation  and 
strode  to  the  window.  Jerry  joined  him  in 
gazing  out  to  where  the  cables  lost  them 
selves  in  the  thick  downpour. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  backwoods  people 
in  that  section  of  country  to  cross  the  Sac 
ramento  on  the  Yellow  Dragon  cable.  For 
this  service  a  small  toll  was  charged,  which 
tolls  the  Yellow  Dragon  Company  applied  to 
the  payment  of  Hall's  wages. 

"We've  got  to  get  across,  Jerry,"  Spillane 
said,  at  the  same  time  jerking  his  thumb  over 
his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  his  wife. 
"Her  father's  hurt  at  the  Clover  Leaf.  Pow 
der  explosion.  Not  expected  to  live.  We  just 
got  word." 


58  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Jerry  felt  himself  fluttering  inwardly.  He 
knew  that  Spillane  wanted  to  cross  on  the 
Yellow  Dream  cable,  and  in  the  absence  of  his 
father  he  felt  that  he  dared  not  assume  such  a 
responsibility,  for  the  cable  had  never  been 
used  for  passengers;  in  fact,  had  not  been 
used  at  all  for  a  long  time. 

"Maybe  Hall  will  be  back  soon,"  he  said. 

Spillane  shook  his  head,  and  demanded, 
"Where's  your  father!" 

"San  Francisco,"  Jerry  answered,  briefly. 

Spillane  groaned,  and  fiercely  drove  his 
clenched  fist  into  the  palm  of  the  other  hand. 
His  wife  was  crying  more  audibly,  and  Jerry 
could  hear  her  murmuring,  'And  daddy's  dy- 
in',  dyinM" 

The  tears  welled  up  in  his  own  eyes,  and  he 
stood  irresolute,  not  knowing  what  he  should 
do.  But  the  man  decided  for  him. 

"Look  here,  kid,"  he  said,  with  determina 
tion,  "the  wife  and  me  are  goin'  over  on  this 
here  cable  of  yours !  Will  you  run  it  for  us  ?  " 

Jerry  backed  slightly  away.  He  did  it  un 
consciously,  as  if  recoiling  instinctively  from 
something  unwelcome. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  59 

"Better  see  if  Hall's  back,"  he  suggested. 

"And  if  he  ain't?" 

Again  Jerry  hesitated. 

"I'll  stand  for  the  risk,"  Spillane  added. 
"Don't  you  see,  kid,  we've  simply  got  to 
cross!" 

Jerry  nodded  his  head  reluctantly. 

"And  there  ain't  no  use  waitin'  for  Hall," 
Spillane  went  on.  "You  know  as  well  as  me 
he  ain't  back  from  Cripple  Cow  this  time  of 
day!  So  come  along  and  let's  get  started." 

No  wonder  that  Mrs.  Spillane  seemed  terri 
fied  as  they  helped  her  into  the  ore-car — so 
Jerry  thought,  as  he  gazed  into  the  apparently 
fathomless  gulf  beneath  her.  For  it  was  so 
filled  with  rain  and  cloud,  hurtling  and  curling 
in  the  fierce  blast,  that  the  other  shore,  seven 
hundred  feet  away,  was  invisible,  while  the 
cliff  at  their  feet  dropped  sheer  down  and  lost 
itself  in  the  swirling  vapor.  By  all  appear 
ances  it  might  be  a  mile  to  bottom  instead  of 
two  hundred  feet. 

"All  ready?"  he  asked. 

"Let  her  go!"  Spillane  shouted,  to  make 
himself  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  wind. 


60  DUTCH  COURAGE 

He  had  clambered  in  beside  Ms  wife,  and 
was  holding  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

Jerry  looked  upon  this  with  disapproval. 
"  You '11  need  all  your  hands  for  holdin'  on,  the 
way  the  wind's  yowlin.'  " 

The  man  and  the  woman  shifted  their  hands 
accordingly,  tightly  gripping  the  sides  of  the 
car,  and  Jerry  slowly  and  carefully  released 
thp  brake.  The  drum  began  to  revolve  as  the 
endless  cable  passed  round  it,  and  the  car  slid 
slowly  out  into  the  chasm,  its  trolley  wheels 
rolling  on  the  stationary  cable  overhead,  to 
which  it  was  suspended. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Jerry  had  worked 
the  cable,  but  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  done 
so  away  from  the  supervising  eye  of  his  father. 
By  means  of  the  brake  he  regulated  the  speed 
of  the  car.  It  needed  regulating,  for  at  times, 
caught  by  the  stronger  gusts  of  wind,  it  swayed 
violently  back  and  forth ;  and  once,  just  before 
it  was  swallowed  up  in  a  rain  squall,  it  seemed 
about  to  spill  out  its  human  contents. 

After  that  Jerry  had  no  way  of  knowing 
where  the  car  was  except  by  means  of  the 
cable.  This  he  watched  keenly  as  it  glided 


AND  OTHER  STOKIES  61 

around  the  drum.  "Three  hundred  feet,"  he 
breathed  to  himself,  as  the  cable  markings 
went  by,  "three  hundred  and  fifty,  four  hun 
dred;  four  hundred  and •" 

The  cable  had  stopped.  Jerry  threw  off  the 
brake,  but  it  did  not  move.  He  caught  the 
cable  with  his  hands  and  tried  to  start  it  by 
tugging  smartly.  Something  had  gone  wrong. 
What!  He  could  not  guess;  he  could  not  see. 
Looking  up,  he  could  vaguely  make  out  the 
empty  car,  which  had  been  crossing  from  the 
opposite  cliff  at  a  speed  equal  to  that  of  the 
loaded  car.  It  was  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  away.  That  meant,  he  knew,  that 
somewhere  in  the  gray  obscurity,  two  hundred 
feet  above  the  river  and  two  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  from  the  other  bank,  Spillane  and  his  wife 
were  suspended  and  stationary. 

Three  times  Jerry  shouted  with  all  the  shrill 
force  of  his  lungs,  but  no  answering  cry  came 
out  of  the  storm.  It  was  impossible  for  him 
to  hear  them  or  to  make  himself  heard.  As  he 
stood  for  a  moment,  thinking  rapidly,  the  fly 
ing  clouds  seemed  to  thin  and  lift.  He  caught 
a  brief  glimpse  of  the  swollen  Sacramento  be- 


62  DUTCH  COUKAGE 

neath,  and  a  briefer  glimpse  of  the  car  and 
the  man  and  woman.  Then  the  clouds  de 
scended  thicker  than  ever. 

The  boy  examined  the  drum  closely,  and 
found  nothing  the  matter  with  it.  Evidently 
it  was  the  drum  on  the  other  side  that  had 
gone  wrong.  He  was  appalled  at  thought  of 
the  man  and  woman  out  there  in  the  midst  of 
the  storm,  hanging  over  the  abyss,  rocking 
back  and  forth  in  the  frail  car  and  ignorant 
of  what  was  taking  place  on  shore.  And  he 
did  not  like  to  think  of  their  hanging  there 
while  he  went  round  by  the  Yellow  Dragon 
cable  to  the  other  drum. 

But  he  remembered  a  block  and  tackle  in  the 
tool-house,  and  ran  and  brought  it.  They  were 
double  blocks,  and  he  murmured  aloud,  "A 
purchase  of  four,"  as  he  made  the  tackle  fast 
to  the  endless  cable.  Then  he  heaved  upon  it, 
heaved  until  it  seemed  that  his  arms  were  be 
ing  drawn  out  from  their  sockets  and  that  his 
shoulder  muscles  would  be  ripped  asunder. 
Yet  the  cable  did  not  budge.  Nothing  re 
mained  but  to  cross  over  to  the  other  side. 

He  was  already  soaking  wet,  so  he  did  not 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  63 

mind  the  rain  as  he  ran  over  the  trail  to  the 
Yellow  Dragon.  The  storm  was  with  him,  and 
it  was  easy  going,  although  there  was  no  Hall 
at  the  other  end  of  it  to  man  the  brake  for  him 
and  regulate  the  speed  of  the  car.  This  he 
did  for  himself,  however,  by  means  of  a  stout 
rope,  which  he  passed,  with  a  turn,  round  the 
stationary  cable. 

As  the  full  force  of  the  wind  struck  him  in 
mid-air,  swaying  the  cable  and  whistling  and 
roaring  past  it,  and  rocking  and  careening  the 
car,  he  appreciated  more  fully  what  must  be 
the  condition  of  mind  of  Spillane  and  his  wife. 
And  this  appreciation  gave  strength  to  him, 
as,  safely  across,  he  fought  his  way  up  the 
other  bank,  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale,  to  the  Yel 
low  Dream  cable. 

To  his  consternation,  he  found  the  drum  in 
thorough  working  order.  Everything  was  run 
ning  smoothly  at  both  ends.  Where  was  the 
hitch?  In  the  middle,  without  a  doubt. 

From  this  side,  the  car  containing  Spillane 
was  only  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  away.  He 
could  make  out  the  man  and  woman  through 
the  whirling  vapor,  -crouching  in  the  bottom 


64  DUTCH  COURAGE 

of  the  car  and  exposed  to  the  pelting  rain  and 
the  full  fury  of  the  wind.  In  a  lull  between 
the  squalls  he  shouted  to  Spillane  to  examine 
the  trolley  of  the  car. 

Spillane  heard,  for  he  saw  him  rise  up  cau 
tiously  on  his  knees,  and  with  his  hands  go 
over  both  trolley-wheels.  Then  he  turned  his 
face  toward  the  bank. 

" She's  all  right,  kid!" 

Jerry  heard  the  words,  faint  and  far,  as 
from  a  remote  distance.  Then  what  was  the 
matter?  Nothing  remained  but  the  other  and 
empty  car,  which  he  could  not  see,  but  which 
he  knew  to  be  there,  somewhere  in  that  ter 
rible  gulf  two  hundred  feet  beyond  Spillane 's 
car. 

His  mind  was  made  up  on  the  instant.  He 
was  only  fourteen  years  old,  slightly  and 
wirily  built;  but  his  life  had  been  lived  among 
the  mountains,  his  father  had  taught  him  no 
small  measure  of  "sailoring,"  and  he  was  not 
particularly  afraid  of  heights. 

In  the  tool-box  by  the  drum  he  found  an  old 
monkey-wrench  and  a  short  bar  of  iron,  also 
a  coil  of  fairly  new  Manila  rope.  He  looked  in 


-TERRY    SWUNG    OUT    OVER    THE     CHASM 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  65 

vain  for  a  piece  of  board  with  which  to  rig 
a  " boatswain's  chair. "  There  was  nothing 
at  hand  but  large  planks,  which  he  had  no 
means  of  sawing,  so  he  was  compelled  to 
do  without  the  more  comfortable  form  of 
saddle. 

The  saddle  he  rigged  was  very  simple.  With 
the  rope  he  made  merely  a  large  loop  round 
the  stationary  cable,  to  which  hung  the  empty 
car.  When  he  sat  in  the  loop  his  hands  could 
just  reach  the  cable  conveniently,  and  where 
the  rope  was  likely  to  fray  against  the  cable 
he  lashed  his  coat,  in  lieu  of  the  old  sack  he 
would  have  used  had  he  been  able  to  find  one. 

These  preparations  swiftly  completed,  he 
swung  out  over  the  chasm,  sitting  in  the 
rope  saddle  and  pulling  himself  along  the  cable 
by  his  hands.  With  him  he  carried  the  mon 
key-wrench  and  short  iron  bar  and  a  few  spare 
feet  of  rope.  It  was  a  slightly  up-hill  pull,  but 
this  he  did  not  mind  so  much  as  the  wind. 
When  the  furious  gusts  hurled  him  back  and 
forth,  sometimes  half  twisting  him  about,  and 
he  gazed  down  into  the  gray  depths,  he  was 
aware  that  he  was  afraid.  It  was  an  old  cable. 


66  DUTCH  COURAGE 

What  if  it  should  break  under  his  weight  and 
the  pressure  of  the  wind? 

It  was  fear  he  was  experiencing,  honest  fear, 
and  he  knew  that  there  was  a  "gone"  feeling 
in  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  and  a  trembling  of 
the  knees  which  he  could  not  quell. 

But  he  held  himself  bravely  to  the  task.  The 
cable  was  old  and  worn,  sharp  pieces  of  wire 
projected  from  it,  and  his  hands  were  cut  and 
bleeding  by  the  time  he  took  his  first  rest,  and 
held  a  shouted  conversation  with  Spillane. 
The  car  was  directly  beneath  him  and  only  a 
few  feet  away,  so  he  was  able  to  explain  the 
condition  of  affairs  and  his  errand. 

"Wish  I  could  help  you,"  Spillane  shouted 
at  him  as  he  started  on,  "but  the  wife's  gone 
all  to  pieces !  Anyway,  kid,  take  care  of  your 
self !  I  got  myself  in  this  fix,  but  it's  up  to 
you  to  get  me  out!" 

"  Oh,  I  '11  do  it  I "  Jerry  shouted  back.  ' '  Tell 
Mrs.  Spillane  that  she'll  be  ashore  now  in  a 

jiffy!" 

In  the  midst  of  pelting  rain,  which  half- 
blinded  him,  swinging  from  side  to  side  like  a 
rapid  and  erratic  pendulum,  his  torn  hands 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  67 

paining  him  severely  and  his  lungs  panting 
from  his  exertions  and  panting  from  the  very 
air  which  the  wind  sometimes  blew  into  his 
mouth  with  strangling  force,  he  finally  arrived 
at  the  empty  car. 

A  single  glance  showed  him  that  he  had  not 
made  the  dangerous  journey  in  vain.  The 
front  trolley-wheel,  loose  from  long  wear,  had 
jumped  the  cable,  and  the  cable  was  now 
jammed  tightly  between  the  wheel  and  the 
sheave-block. 

One  thing  was  clear — the  wheel  must  be  re 
moved  from  the  block.  A  second  thing  was 
equally  clear — while  the  wheel  was  being  re 
moved  the  car  would  have  to  be  fastened  to 
the  cable  by  the  rope  he  had  brought. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  beyond 
making  the  car  secure,  he  had  accomplished 
nothing.  The  key  which  bound  the  wheel  on 
its  axle  was  rusted  and  jammed.  He  ham 
mered  at  it  with  one  hand  and  held  on  the  best 
he  could  with  the  other,  but  the  wind  persisted 
in  swinging  and  twisting  his  body,  and  made 
his  blows  miss  more  often  than  not.  Nine- 
tenths  of  the  strength  he  expended  was  in  try- 


68  DUTCH  COURAGE 

ing  to  hold  himself  steady.  For  fear  that  he 
might  drop  the  monkey-wrench  he  made  it 
fast  to  his  wrist  with  his  handkerchief. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  Jerry  had  ham 
mered  the  key  clear,  but  he  could  not  draw  it 
out.  A  dozen  times  it  seemed  that  he  must 
give  up  in  despair,  that  all  the  danger  and 
toil  he  had  gone  through  were  for  nothing. 
Then  an  idea  came  to  him,  and  he  went 
through  his  pockets  with  feverish  haste, 
and  found  what  he  sought — a  ten-penny 
nail. 

But  for  that  nail,  put  in  his  pocket  he  knew 
not  when  or  why,  he  would  have  had  to  make 
another  trip  over  the  cable  and  back.  Thrust 
ing  the  nail  through  the  looped  head  of  the 
key,  he  at  last  had  a  grip,  and  in  no  time  the 
key  was  out. 

Then  came  punching  and  prying  with  the 
iron  bar  to  get  the  wheel  itself  free  from 
where  it  was  jammed  by  the  cable  against  the 
side  of  the  block.  After  that  Jerry  replaced 
the  wheel,  and  by  means  of  the  rope,  heaved 
up  on  the  car  till  the  trolley  once  more  rested 
properly  on  the  cable. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  69 

All  this  took  time.  More  than  an  hour  and 
a  half  had  elapsed  since  his  arrival  at  the 
empty  car.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  he 
dropped  out  of  his  saddle  and  down  into  the 
car.  He  removed  the  detaining  ropes,  and 
the  trolley-wheels  began  slowly  to  revolve. 
The  car  was  moving,  and  he  knew  that  some 
where  beyond,  although  he  could  not  see,  the 
car  of  Spillane  was  likewise  moving,  and  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

There  was  no  need  for  a  brake,  for  his 
weight  sufficiently  counterbalanced  the  weight 
in  the  other  car;  and  soon  he  saw  the  cliff 
rising  out  of  the  cloud  depths  and  the  old 
familiar  drum  going  round  and  round. 

Jerry  climbed  out  and  made  the  car  securely 
fast.  He  did  it  deliberately  and  carefully,  and 
then,  quite  unhero-like,  he  sank  down  by  the 
drum,  regardless  of  the  pelting  storm,  and 
burst  out  sobbing. 

There  were  many  reasons  why  he  sobbed- — 
partly  from  the  pain  of  his  hands,  which  was 
excruciating;  partly  from  exhaustion;  partly 
from  relief  and  release  from  the  nerve-tension 
he  had  been  under  for  so  long;  and  in  a  large 


70  DUTCH  COURAGE 

measure  from  thankfulness  that  the  man  and 
woman  were  saved. 

They  were  not  there  to  thank  him ;  but  some 
where  beyond  that  howling,  storm-driven  gulf 
he  knew  they  were  hurrying  over  the  trail  to 
ward  the  Clover  Leaf. 

Jerry  staggered  to  the  cabin,  and  his  hand 
left  the  white  knob  red  with  blood  as  he 
opened  the  door,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  it. 

He  was  too  proudly  contented  with  himself, 
for  he  was  certain  that  he  had  done  well,  and 
he  was  honest  enough  to  admit  to  himself  that 
he  had  done  well.  But  a  small  regret  arose 
and  persisted  in  his  thoughts — if  his  father 
had  only  been  there  to  see! 


CHEIS  FARRINGTON:  ABLE  SEAMAN 

"!F  you  vas  in  der  old  country  ships,  a 
liddle  shaver  like  you  vood  pe  only  der  boy, 
und  you  vood  wait  on  der  able  seamen.  Und 
ven  der  able  seaman  sing  out,  'Boy,  der  water- 
jug!'  you  vood  jump  quick,  like  a  shot,  und 
bring  der  water-jug.  Und  ven  der  able  sea 
man  sing  out,  'Boy,  my  boots!'  you  vood  get 
der  boots.  Und  you  vood  pe  politeful,  und  say 
'Yessir'  und  'No  sir.'  But  you  pe  in  der 
American  ship,  und  you  t'ink  you  are  so  good 
as  der  able  seamen.  Chris,  mine  boy,  I  haf 
ben  a  sailorman  for  twenty-two  years,  und  do 
you  t'ink  you  are  so  good  as  me?  I  vas  a  sail 
orman  pefore  you  vas  borned,  und  I  knot  und 
reef  und  splice  ven  you  play  mit  topstrings 
und  fly  kites." 

"But  you  are  unfair,  Emil!"  cried  Chris 
Farrington,  his  sensitive  face  flushed  and  hurt. 
He  was  a  slender  though  strongly  built  young 
fellow  of  seventeen,  with  Yankee  ancestry  writ 
large  all  over  him. 

71 


72  DUTCH  COURAGE 

"Dere  you  go  vonce  again!"  the  Swedish 
sailor  exploded.  "My  name  is  Mister  Johan- 
sen,  und  a  kid  of  a  boy  like  you  call  me  'Emil!' 
It  vas  insulting,  und  comes  pecause  of  der 
American  ship!" 

"But  you  call  me  'Chris!'  "  the  boy  expost 
ulated,  reproachfully. 

"But  you  vas  a  boy." 

"Who  does  a  man's  work,"  Chris  retorted. 
"And  because  I  do  a  man's  work  I  have  as 
much  right  to  call  you  by  your  first  name  as 
you  me.  We  are  all  equals  in  this  fo 'castle,  and 
you  know  it.  When  we  signed  for  the  voy 
age  in  San  Francisco,  we  signed  as  sailors 
on  the  Sophie  Sutherland  and  there  was  no 
difference  made  with  any  of  us.  Haven't  I 
always  done  my  work?  Did  I  ever  shirk? 
Did  you  or  any  other  man  ever  have  to 
take  a  wheel  for  me?  Or  a  lookout?  Or  go 
aloft?" 

"Chris  is  right,"  interrupted  a  young  Eng 
lish  sailor.  "No  man  has  had  to  do  a  tap  of 
his  work  yet.  He  signed  as  good  as  any  of  us, 
and  he's  shown  himself  as  good " 

"Better!"   broke   in   a    Nova    Scotia   man. 


AND  OTHER  STOKIES  73 

"Better  than  some  of  us !  When  we  struck  the 
sealing-grounds  he  turned  out  to  be  next  to 
the  best  boat-steerer  aboard.  Only  French 
Louis,  who'd  been  at  it  for  years,  could  beat 
him.  I'm  only  a  boat-puller,  and  you're  only 
a  boat-puller,  too,  Emil  Johansen,  for  all  your 
twenty- two  years  at  sea.  Why  don't  you  be 
come  a  boat-steerer  f" 

"Too  clumsy, "  laughed  the  Englishman, 
"and  too  slow." 

"Little  that  counts,  one  way  or  the  other," 
joined  in  Dane  Jurgensen,  coming  to  the  aid  of 
his  Scandinavian  brother.  "Emil  is  a  man 
grown  and  an  able  seaman;  the  boy  is 
neither." 

And  so  the  argument  raged  back  and  forth, 
the  Swedes,  Norwegians  and  Danes,  because 
of  race  kinship,  taking  the  part  of  Johansen, 
and  the  English,  Canadians  and  Americans 
taking  the  part  of  Chris.  From  an  unpreju 
diced  point  of  view,  the  right  was  on  the  side 
of  Chris.  As  he  had  truly  said,  he  did  a 
man's  work,  and  the  same  work  that  any  of 
them  did.  But  they  were  prejudiced,  and 
badly  so,  and  out  of  the  words  which  passed 


74  DUTCH  COURAGE 

rose  a  standing  quarrel  which  divided  the  fore 
castle  into  two  parties. 


The  Sophie  Sutherland  was  a  seal-hunter, 
registered  out  of  San  Francisco,  and  engaged 
in  hunting  the  furry  sea-animals  along  the 
Japanese  coast  north  to  Bering  Sea.  The 
other  vessels  were  two-masted  schooners,  but 
she  was  a  three-master  and  the  largest  in  the 
fleet.  In  fact,  she  was  a  full-rigged,  three- 
topmast  schooner,  newly  built. 

Although  Chris  Farrington  knew  that  justice 
was  with  him,  and  that  he  performed  all  his 
work  faithfully  and  well,  many  a  time,  in  se 
cret  thought,  he  longed  for  some  pressing 
emergency  to  arise  whereby  he  could  demon 
strate  to  the  Scandinavian  seamen  that  he  also 
was  an  able  seaman. 

But  one  stormy  night,  by  an  accident  for 
which  he  was  in  nowise  accountable,  in  over 
hauling  a  spare  anchor-chain  he  had  all  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  badly  crushed.  And 
his  hopes  were  likewise  crushed,  for  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  continue  hunting  with 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  75 

the  boats,  and  lie  was  forced  to  stay  idly 
aboard  until  his  fingers  should  heal.  Yet, 
although  he  little  dreamed  it,  this  very  acci 
dent  was  to  give  him  the  long-looked-for  op 
portunity. 

One  afternoon  in  the  latter  part  of  May  the 
Sophie  Sutherland  rolled  sluggishly  in  a 
breathless  calm.  The  seals  were  abundant,  the 
hunting  good,  and  the  boats  were  all  away  and 
out  of  sight.  And  with  them  was  almost  every 
man  of  the  crew.  Besides  Chris,  there  re 
mained  only  the  captain,  the  sailing-master 
and  the  Chinese  cook. 

The  captain  was  captain  only  by  courtesy. 
He  was  an  old  man,  past  eighty,  and  blissfully 
ignorant  of  the  sea  and  its  ways;  but  he  was 
the  owner  of  the  vessel,  and  hence  the  honor 
able  title.  Of  course  the  sailing-master,  who 
was  really  captain,  was  a  thorough-going  sea 
man.  The  mate,  whose  post  was  aboard,  was 
out  with  the  boats,  having  temporarily  taken 
Chris's  place  as  boat-steerer. 

When  good  weather  and  good  sport  came 
together,  the  boats  were  accustomed  to  range 
far  and  wide,  and  often  did  not  return  to  the 


76  DUTCH  COURAGE 

schooner  until  long  after  dark.  But  for  all 
that  it  was  a  perfect  hunting  day,  Chris  noted 
a  growing  anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  sailing- 
master.  He  paced  the  deck  nervously,  and 
was  constantly  sweeping  the  horizon  with  his 
marine  glasses.  Not  a  boat  was  in  sight.  As 
sunset  arrived,  he  even  sent  Chris  aloft  to  the 
mizzen-topmast-head,  but  with  no  better  luck. 
The  boats  could  not  possibly  be  back  before 
midnight. 

Since  noon  the  barometer  had  been  falling 
with  startling  rapidity,  and  all  the  signs  were 
ripe  for  a  great  storm — how  great,  not  even 
the  sailing-master  anticipated.  He  and  Chris 
set  to  work  to  prepare  for  it.  They  put  storm 
gaskets  on  the  furled  topsails,  lowered  and 
stowed  the  foresail  and  spanker  and  took  in 
the  two  inner  jibs.  In  the  one  remaining  jib 
they  put  a  single  reef,  and  a  single  reef  in  the 
mainsail. 

Night  had  fallen  before  they  finished,  and 
with  the  darkness  came  the  storm.  A  low 
moan  swept  over  the  sea,  and  the  wind  struck 
the  Sophie  Sutherland  flat.  But  she  righted 
quickly,  and  with  the  sailing-master  at  the 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  77 

wheel,  sheered  her  bow  into  within  five  points 
of  the  wind.  Working  as  well  as  he  could  with 
his  bandaged  hand,  and  with  the  feeble  aid  of 
the  Chinese  cook,  Chris  went  forward  and 
backed  the  jib  over  to  the  weather  side.  This 
with  the  flat  mainsail,  left  the  schooner  hove  to. 

"God  help  the  boats!  It's  no  gale!  It's  a 
typhoon!"  the  sailing-master  shouted  to  Chris 
at  eleven  o'clock.  "Too  much  canvas!  Got  to 
get  two  more  reefs  into  that  mainsail,  and  got 
to  do  it  right  away!"  He  glanced  at  the  old 
captain,  shivering  in  oilskins  at  the  binnacle 
and  holding  on  for  dear  life.  "There's  only 
you  and  I,  Chris — and  the  cook;  but  he's  next 
to  worthless!" 

In  order  to  make  the  reef,  it  was  necessary 
to  lower  the  mainsail,  and  the  removal  of  this 
after  pressure  was  bound  to  make  the  schooner 
fall  off  before  the  wind  and  sea  because  of  the 
forward  pressure  of  the  jib. 

"Take  the  wheel!"  the  sailing-master  di 
rected.  "And  when  I  give  the  word,  hard  up 
with  it!  And  when  she's  square  before  it, 
steady  her!  And  keep  her  there !  We'll  heave 
to  again  as  soon  as  I  get  the  reefs  in!" 


78  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Gripping  the  kicking  spokes,  Chris  watched 
him  and  the  reluctant  cook  go  forward  into  the 
howling  darkness.  The  Sophie  Sutherland 
was  plunging  into  the  huge  head-seas  and  wal 
lowing  tremendously,  the  tense  steel  stays  and 
taut  rigging  humming  like  harp-strings  to  the 
wind.  A  buffeted  cry  came  to  his  ears,  and  he 
felt  the  schooner's  bow  paying  off  of  its  own 
accord.  The  mainsail  was  down! 

He  ran  the  wheel  hard-over  and  kept  anx 
ious  track  of  the  changing  direction  of  the 
wind  on  his  face  and  of  the  heave  of  the  ves 
sel.  This  was  the  crucial  ^.loment.  In  per 
forming  the  evolution  she  would  have  to  pass 
broadside  to  the  surge  before  she  could  get 
before  it.  The  wind  was  blowing  directly 
on  his  right  cheek,  when  he  felt  the  Sophie 
Sutherland  lean  over  and  begin  to  rise  to 
ward  the  sky — up — up — an  infinite  distance! 
Would  she  clear  the  crest  of  the  gigantic 
wave? 

Again  by  the  feel  of  it,  for  he  could  see 
nothing,  he  knew  that  a  wall  of  water  was 
rearing  and  curving  far  above  him  along  the 
whole  weather  side.  There  was  an  instant's 


CHRIS    GRIPPED    THE    KICKING    SPOKES 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  79 

calm  as  the  liquid  wall  intervened  and  shut 
off  the  wind.  The  schooner  righted,  and  for 
that  instant  seemed  at  perfect  rest.  Then  she 
rolled  to  meet  the  descending  rush. 

Chris  shouted  to  the  captain  to  hold  tight, 
and  prepared  himself  for  the  shock.  But  the 
man  did  not  live  who  could  face  it.  An  ocean 
of  water  smote  Chris's  back  and  his  clutch 
on  the  spokes  was  loosened  as  if  it  were  a 
baby's.  Stunned,  powerless,  like  a  straw  on 
the  face  of  a  torrent,  he  was  swept  onward 
he  knew  not  whither.  Missing  the  corner  of 
the  cabin,  he  was  dashed  forward  along  the 
poop  runway  a  hundred  feet  or  more,  striking 
violently  against  the  foot  of  the  foremast.  A 
second  wave,  crushing  inboard,  hurled  him 
back  the  way  he  had  come,  and  left  him  half- 
drowned  where  the  poop  steps  should  have 
been. 

Bruised  and  bleeding,  dimly  conscious,  he 
felt  for  the  rail  and  dragged  himself  to  his 
feet.  Unless  something  could  be  done,  he  knew 
the  last  moment  had  come.  As  he  faced  the 
poop,  the  wind  drove  into  his  mouth  with  suf 
focating  force.  This  brought  him  back  to  his 


80  DUTCH  COURAGE 

senses  with  a  start.  The  wind  was  blowing 
from  dead  aft!  The  schooner  was  out  of  the 
trough  and  before  it !  But  the  send  of  the  sea 
was  bound  to  breach  her  to  again.  Crawling 
up  the  runway,  he  managed  to  get  to  the  wheel 
just  in  time  to  prevent  this.  The  binnacle  light 
was  still  burning.  They  were  safe ! 

That  is,  he  and  the  schooner  were  safe.  As 
to  the  welfare  of  his  three  companions  he 
could  not  say.  Nor  did  he  dare  leave  the  wheel 
in  order  to  find  out,  for  it  took  every  second 
of  his  undivided  attention  to  keep  the  vessel  to 
her  course.  The  least  fraction  of  carelessness 
and  the  heave  of  the  sea  under  the  quarter  was 
liable  to  thrust  her  into  the  trough.  So,  a  boy 
of  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds,  he  clung  to 
his  herculean  task  of  guiding  the  two  hundred 
straining  tons  of  fabric  amid  the  chaos  of  the 
great  storm  forces. 

Half  an  hour  later,  groaning  and  sobbing, 
the  captain  crawled  to  Chris's  feet.  All  was 
lost,  he  whimpered.  He  was  smitten  unto 
death.  The  galley  had  gone  by  the  board,  the 
mainsail  and  running-gear,  the  cook,  every 
thing  ! 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  81 

"Where's  the  sailing-master  1"  Chris  de 
manded  when  he  had  caught  his  breath  after 
steadying  a  wild  lurch  of  the  schooner.  It  was 
no  child's  play  to  steer  a  vessel  under  single- 
reefed  jib  before  a  typhoon. 

"Clean  up  for'ard,"  the  old  man  replied. 
"Jammed  under  the  fo'c'sle-head,  but  still 
breathing.  Both  his  arms  are  broken,  he  says, 
and  he  doesn't  know  how  many  ribs.  He's 
hurt  bad." 

"Well,  he'll  drown  there  the  way  she's 
shipping  water  through  the  hawse-pipes.  Go 
for'ard!"  Chris  commanded,  taking  charge  of 
things  as  a  matter  of  course.  "Tell  him  not  to 
worry;  that  I'm  at  the  wheel.  Help  him  as 
much  as  you  can,  and  make  him  help" — he 
stopped  and  ran  the  spokes  to  starboard  as  a 
tremendous  billow  rose  under  the  stern  and 
yawed  the  schooner  to  port — "and  make  him 
help  himself  for  the  rest.  Unship  the  fo 'castle 
hatch  and  get  him  down  into  a  bunk.  Then 
ship  the  hatch  again." 

The  captain  turned  his  aged  face  forward 
and  wavered  pitifully.  The  waist  of  the  ship 
was  full  of  water  to  the  bulwarks.  He  had 


82  DUTCH  COURAGE 

just  come  through  it,  and  knew  death  lurked 
every  inch  of  the  way. 

"Go!"  Chris  shouted,  fiercely.  And  as  the 
fear-stricken  man  started,  "And  take  another 
look  for  the  cook!" 

Two  hours  later,  almost  dead  from  suffering, 
the  captain  returned.  He  had  obeyed  orders. 
The  sailing-master  was  helpless,  although  safe 
in  a  bunk;  the  cook  was  gone.  Chris  sent  the 
captain  below  to  the  cabin  to  change  his  clothes. 

After  interminable  hours  of  toil,  day  broke 
cold  and  gray.  Chris  looked  about  him.  The 
Sophie  Sutherland  was  racing  before  the  ty 
phoon  like  a  thing  possessed.  There  was  no 
rain,  but  the  wind  whipped  the  spray  of  the 
sea  mast-high,  obscuring  everything  except  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood. 

Two  waves  only  could  Chris  see  at  a  time — 
the  one  before  and  the  one  behind.  So  small 
and  insignificant  the  schooner  seemed  on  the 
long  Pacific  roll!  Bushing  up  a  maddening 
mountain,  she  would  poise  like  a  cockle-shell 
on  the  giddy  summit,  breathless  and  rolling, 
leap  outward  and  down  into  the  yawning  chasm 
beneath,  and  bury  herself  in  the  smother  of 


AND  OTHER  STOKIES  83 

foam  at  the  bottom.  Then  the  recovery,  an 
other  mountain,  another  sickening  upward 
rush,  another  poise,  and  the  downward  crash. 
Abreast  of  him,  to  starboard,  like  a  ghost  of 
the  storm,  Chris  saw  the  cook  dashing  apace 
with  fhe  schooner.  Evidently,  when  washed 
overboard,  he  had  grasped  and  become  en 
tangled  in  a  trailing  halyard. 

For  three  hours  more,  alone  with  this  grue 
some  companion,  Chris  held  the  Sophie  Suther 
land  before  the  wind  and  sea.  He  had  long 
since  forgotten  his  mangled  fingers.  The  ban 
dages  had  been  torn  away,  and  the  cold,  salt 
spray  had  eaten  into  the  half-healed  wounds 
until  they  were  numb  and  no  longer  pained. 
But  he  was  not  cold.  The  terrific  labor  of 
steering  forced  the  perspiration  from  every 
pore.  Yet  he  was  faint  and  weak  with  hunger 
and  exhaustion,  and  hailed  with  delight  the 
advent  on  deck  of  the  captain,  who  fed  him 
all  of  a  pound  of  cake-chocolate.  It  strength 
ened  him  at  once. 

He  ordered  the  captain  to  cut  the  halyard  by 
which  the  cook's  body  was  towing,  and  also  to 
go  forward  and  cut  loose  the  jib-halyard  and 


84  DUTCH  COUEAGE 

sheet.  When  he  had  done  so,  the  jib  fluttered 
a  couple  of  moments  like  a  handkerchief,  then 
tore  out  of  the  bolt-ropes  and  vanished.  The 
Sophie  Sutherland  was  running  under  bare 
poles. 

By  noon  the  storm  had  spent  itself,  and  by 
six  in  the  evening  the  waves  had  died  down 
sufficiently  to  let  Chris  leave  the  helm.  It  was 
almost  hopeless  to  dream  of  the  small  boats 
weathering  the  typhoon,  but  there  is  always 
the  chance  in  saving  human  life,  and  Chris  at 
once  applied  himself  to  going  back  over  the 
course  along  which  he  had  fled.  He  managed 
to  get  a  reef  in  one  of  the  inner  jibs  and  two 
reefs  in  the  spanker,  and  then,  with  the  aid  of 
the  watch-tackle,  to  hoist  them  to  the  stiff 
breeze  that  yet  blew.  And  all  through  the 
night,  tacking  back  and  forth  on  the  back 
track,  he  shook  out  canvas  as  fast  as  the  wind 
would  permit. 

The  injured  sailing-master  had  turned  de 
lirious  and  between  tending  him  and  lending 
a  hand  with  the  ship,  Chris  kept  the  captain 
busy.  "Taught  me  more  seamanship,"  as  he 
afterward  said,  "than  I'd  learned  on  the  whole 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  85 

voyage. "  But  by  daybreak  the  old  man's 
feeble  frame  succumbed,  and  he  fell  off  into 
exhausted  sleep  on  the  weather  poop. 

Chris,  who  could  now  lash  the  wheel,  covered 
the  tired  man  with  blankets  from  below,  and 
went  fishing  in  the  lazaretto  for  something  to. 
eat.  But  by  the  day  following  he  found  him 
self  forced  to  give  in,  drowsing  fitfully  by  the 
wheel  and  waking  ever  and  anon  to  take  a  look 
at  things. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  he  picked 
up  a  schooner,  dismasted  and  battered.  As 
he  approached,  close-hauled  on  the  wind,  he 
saw  her  decks  crowded  by  an  unusually  large 
crew,  and  on  sailing  in  closer,  made  out  among 
others  the  faces  of  his  missing  comrades.  And 
he  was  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  for  they  were 
fighting  a  losing  fight  at  the  pumps.  An  hour 
later  they,  with  the  crew  of  the  sinking  craft, 
were  aboard  the  Sophie  Sutherland. 

Having  wandered  so  far  from  their  own 
vessel,  they  had  taken  refuge  on  the  strange 
schooner  just  before  the  storm  broke.  She 
was  a  Canadian  sealer  on  her  first  voyage,  and 
as  was  now  apparent,  her  last. 


86  DUTCH  COURAGE 

The  captain  of  the  Sophie  Sutherland  had  a 
story  to  tell,  also,  and  he  told  it  well — so  well, 
in  fact,  that  when  all  hands  were  gathered  to 
gether  on  deck  during  the  dog-watch,  Emil  Jo- 
hansen  strode  over  to  Chris  and  gripped  him 
by  the  hand. 

"Chris,"  he  said,  so  loudly  that  all  could 
hear,  "Chris,  I  gif  in.  You  vas  yoost  so  good 
a  sailorman  as  I.  You  vas  a  bully  boy  und 
able  seaman,  und  I  pe  proud  for  you ! 

"Und  Chris!"  He  turned  as  if  he  had  for 
gotten  something,  and  called  back,  "From  dis 
time  always  you  call  me  *Emil'  mitout  der 
1 Mister!'  " 


TO  EEPEL  BOAEDEES 

"No;  honest,  now,  Bob,  I'm  sure  I  was  born 
too  late.  The  twentieth  century's  no  place  for 
me.  If  I'd  had  my  way " 

"You'd  have  been  born  in  the  sixteenth,'* 
I  broke  in,  laughing,  "with  Drake  and  Haw 
kins  and  Ealeigh  and  the  rest  of  the  sea- 
kings." 

"You're  right!"  Paul  affirmed.  He  rolled 
over  upon  his  back  on  the  little  after-deck, 
with  a  long  sigh  of  dissatisfaction. 

It  was  a  little  past  midnight,  and,  with  the 
wind  nearly  astern,  we  were  running  down 
Lower  San  Francisco  Bay  to  Bay  Farm 
Island.  Paul  Fairfax  and  I  went  to  the  same 
school,  lived  next  door  to  each  other,  and 
"chummed  it"  together.  By  saving  money, 
by  earning  more,  and  by  each  of  us  foregoing 
a  bicycle  on  his  birthday,  we  had  collected  the 
purchase-price  of  the  Mist,  a  beamy  twenty- 
eight-footer,  sloop-rigged,  with  baby  topsail 

87 


88  DUTCH  COURAGE 

and  centerboard.  Paul's  father  was  a  yachts 
man  himself,  and  he  had  conducted  the  busi 
ness  for  us,  poking  around,  overhauling,  stick 
ing  his  penknife  into  the  timbers,  and  testing 
the  planks  with  the  greatest  care.  In  fact,  it 
was  on  his  schooner,  the  Whim,  that  Paul  and 
I  had  picked  up  what  we  knew  about  boat-sail 
ing,  and  now  that  the  Mist  was  ours,  we  were 
hard  at  work  adding  to  our  knowledge. 

The  Mist,  being  broad  of  beam,  was  com 
fortable  and  roomy.  A  man  could  stand  up 
right  in  the  cabin,  and  what  with  the  stove, 
cooking-utensils,  and  bunks,  we  were  good  for 
trips  in  her  of  a  week  at  a  time.  And  we  were 
just  starting  out  on  the  first  of  such  trips,  and 
it  was  because  it  was  the  first  trip  that  we 
were  sailing  by  night.  Early  in  the  evening 
we  had  beaten  out  from  Oakland,  and  we  were 
now  off  the  mouth  of  Alameda  Creek,  a  large 
salt-water  estuary  which  fills  and  empties  San 
Leandro  Bay. 

"Men  lived  in  those  days,"  Paul  said,  so 
suddenly  as  to  startle  me  from  my  own 
thoughts.  "In  the  days  of  the  sea-kings, 
I  mean,"  he  explained. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  89 

I  said  "Oh!"  sympathetically,  and  began  to 
whistle  "Captain  Kidd." 

"Now,  I've  my  ideas  about  things,"  Paul 
went  on.  "They  talk  about  romance  and  ad 
venture  and  all  that,  but  I  say  romance  and 
adventure  are  dead.  We're  too  civilized.  We 
don't  have  adventures  in  the  twentieth  cen 
tury.  We  go  to  the  circus " 

"But "  I  strove  to  interrupt,  though  he 

would  not  listen  to  me. 

"You  look  here,  Bob,"  he  said.  "In  all  the 
time  you  and  IVe  gone  together  what  adven 
tures  have  we  had!  True,  we  were  out  in  the 
hills  once,  and  didn't  get  back  till  late  at  night, 
and  we  were  good  and  hungry,  but  we  weren't 
even  lost.  We  knew  where  we  were  all  the 
time.  It  was  only  a  case  of  walk.  What  I 
mean  is,  we've  never  had  to  fight  for  our  lives. 
Understand?  We've  never  had  a  pistol  fired 
at  us,  or  a  cannon,  or  a  sword  waving  over 
our  heads,  or — or  anything.  .  .  . 

"You'd  better  slack  away  three  or  four  feet 
of  that  main-sheet,"  he  said  in  a  hopeless  sort 
of  way,  as  though  it  did  not  matter  much  any 
way.  "The  wind's  still  veering  around. 


90  DUTCH  COURAGE 

"Why,  in  the  old  times  the  sea  was  one  con 
stant  glorious  adventure,"  he  continued.  "A 
boy  left  school  and  became  a  midshipman, 
and  in  a  few  weeks  was  cruising  after 
Spanish  galleons  or  locking  yard-arms  with 
a  French  privateer,  or  —  doing  lots  of 
things. " 

' '  Well — there  are  adventures  today, "  I  ob 
jected. 

But  Paul  went  on  as  though  I  had  not 
spoken : 

"And  today  we  go  from  school  to  high 
school,  and  from  high  school  to  college,  and 
then  we  go  into  the  office  or  become  doctors 
and  things,  and  the  only  adventures  we  know 
about  are  the  ones  we  read  in  books.  Why, 
just  as  sure  as  I'm  sitting  here  on  the  stern 
of  the  sloop  Mist,  just  so  sure  am  I  that  we 
wouldn't  know  what  to  do  if  a  real  adventure 
came  along.  Now,  would  we?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  answered  non-com- 
mittally. 

"Well,  you  wouldn't  be  a  coward,  would 
you?"  he  demanded. 

I  was  sure  I  wouldn't  and  said  so. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  91 

"But  you  don't  have  to  be  a  coward  to  lose 
your  head,  do  you?" 

I  agreed  that  brave  men  might  get  ex 
cited. 

"Well,  then,"  Paul  summed  up,  with  a  note 
of  regret  in  his  voice,  "the  chances  are  that 
we'd  spoil  the  adventure.  So  it's  a  shame,  and 
that's  all  I  can  say  about  it." 

"The  adventure  hasn't  come  yet,"  I  an 
swered,  not  caring  to  see  him  down  in  the 
mouth  over  nothing.  You  see,  Paul  was  a 
peculiar  fellow  in  some  things,  and  I  knew  him 
pretty  well.  He  read  a  good  deal,  and  had  a 
quick  imagination,  and  once  in  a  while  he'd 
get  into  moods  like  this  one.  So  I  said,  "The 
adventure  hasn't  come  yet,  so  there's  no  use 
worrying  about  its  being  spoiled.  For  all  we 
know,  it  might  turn  out  splendidly." 

Paul  didn't  say  anything  for  some  time,  and 
I  was  thinking  he  was  out  of  the  mood,  when 
he  spoke  up  suddenly: 

"Just  imagine,  Bob  Kellogg,  as  we're  sail 
ing  along  now,  just  as  we  are,  and  never  mind 
what  for,  that  a  boat  should  bear  down  upon 
us  with  armed  men  in  it,  what  would  you  do 


92  DUTCH  COURAGE 

to  repel  boarders?  Think  you  could  riae  to 
it?" 

"What  would  you  do?"  I  asked  pointedly. 
"Bemember,  we  haven't  even  a  single  shot 
gun  aboard." 

"You  would  surrender,  then?"  he  demanded 
angrily.  "But  suppose  they  were  going  to 
kill  you?" 

"I'm  not  saying  what  I'd  do,"  I  answered 
stiffly,  beginning  to  get  a  little  angry  myself. 
"I'm  asking  what  you'd  do,  without  weapons 
of  any  sort?" 

"I'd  find  something,"  he  replied — rather 
shortly,  I  thought. 

I  began  to  chuckle.  "Then  the  adventure 
wouldn't  be  spoiled,  would  it?  And  you've 
been  talking  rubbish." 

Paul  struck  a  match,  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  remarked  that  it  was  nearly  one  o'clock 
— a  way  he  had  when  the  argument  went 
against  him.  Besides,  this  was  the  nearest  we 
ever  came  to  quarreling  now,  though  our  share 
of  squabbles  had  fallen  to  us  in  the  earlier 
days  of  our  friendship.  I  had  just  seen  a  little 
white  light  ahead  when  Paul  spoke  again. 


AND  OTHBE  STORIES  93 

"Anchor-light,"  he  said.  " Funny  place  for 
people  to  drop  the  hook.  It  may  be  a  scow- 
schooner  with  a  dinky  astern,  so  you'd  better 
go  wide." 

I  eased  the  Mist  several  points,  and,  the 
wind  puffing  up,  we  went  plowing  along  at  a 
pretty  fair  speed,  passing  the  light  so  wide 
that  we  could  not  make  out  what  manner  of 
craft  it  marked.  Suddenly  the  Mist  slacked 
up  in  a  slow  and  easy  way,  as  though  running 
upon  soft  mud.  We  were  both  startled.  The 
wind  was  blowing  stronger  than  ever,  and  yet 
we  were  almost  at  a  standstill. 

"Mud-flat  out  here?  Never  heard  of  such  a 
thing!" 

So  Paul  exclaimed  with  a  snort  of  unbelief, 
and,  seizing  an  oar,  shoved  it  down  over  the 
side.  And  straight  down  it  went  till  the  water 
wet  his  hand.  There  was  no  bottom!  Then 
we  were  dumbfounded.  The  wind  was  whis 
tling  by,  and  still  the  Mist  was  moving  ahead 
at  a  snail's  pace.  There  seemed  something 
dead  about  her,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  at 
the  tiller  to  keep  her  from  swinging  up  into 
the  wind. 


94  DUTCH  COURAGE 

" Listen!"  I  laid  my  hand  on  Paul's  arm. 
We  could  hear  the  sound  of  rowlocks,  and  saw 
the  little  white  light  bobbing  up  and  down 
and  now  very  close  to  us.  "There's  your 
armed  boat,"  I  whispered  in  fun.  "Beat  the 
crew  to  quarters  and  stand  by  to  repel 
boarders!" 

We  both  laughed,  and  were  still  laughing 
when  a  wild  scream  of  rage  came  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  the  approaching  boat  shot  un 
der  our  stern.  By  the  light  of  the  lantern  it 
carried  we  could  see  the  two  men  in  it  dis 
tinctly.  They  were  foreign-looking  fellows 
with  sun-bronzed  faces,  and  with  knitted  tam- 
o'-shanters  perched  seaman  fashion  on  their 
heads.  Bright-colored  woolen  sashes  were 
around  their  waists,  and  long  sea-boots  cov 
ered  their  legs.  I  remember  yet  the  cold  chill 
which  passed  along  my  backbone  as  I  noted 
the  tiny  gold  ear-rings  in  the  ears  of  one. 
For  all  the  world  they  were  like  pirates 
stepped  out  of  the  pages  of  romance.  And, 
to  make  the  picture  complete,  their  faces  were 
distorted  with  anger,  and  each  flourished  a 
long  knife.  They  were  both  shouting,  in  high- 


AND  OTHER  STOKIES  95 

pitched  voices,  some  foreign  jargon  we  could 
not  understand. 

One  of  them,  the  smaller  of  the  two,  and  if 
anything  the  more  vicious-looking,  put  his 
hands  on  the  rail  of  the  Mist  and  started  to 
come  aboard.  Quick  as  a  flash  Paul  placed  the 
end  of  the  oar  against  the  man's  chest  and 
shoved  him  back  into  his  boat.  He  fell  in  a 
heap,  but  scrambled  to  his  feet,  waving  the 
knife  and  shrieking: 

"You  break-a  my  net-a!  You  break-a  my 
net-a!" 

And  he  held  forth  in  the  jargon  again,  his 
companion  joining  him,  and  both  preparing  to 
make  another  dash  to  come  aboard  the  Mist. 

"They're  Italian  fishermen, "  I  cried,  the 
facts  of  the  case  breaking  in  upon  me. 
"We've  run  over  their  smelt-net,  and  it's 
slipped  along  the  keel  and  fouled  our  rudder. 
We're  anchored  to  it." 

"Yes,  and  they're  murderous  chaps,  too," 
Paul  said,  sparring  at  them  with  the  oar  to 
make  them  keep  their  distance. 

"Say,  you  fellows!"  he  called  to  them. 
"Give  us  a  chance  and  we'll  get  it  clear  for 


96  DUTCH  COURAGE 

you!  We  didn't  know  your  net  was  there. 
We  didn't  mean  to  do  it,  you  know!" 

"You  won't  lose  anything!"  I  added. 
1 '  We  '11  pay  the  damages ! ' ' 

But  they  could  not  understand  what  we  were 
saying,  or  did  not  care  to  understand. 

"You  break-a  my  net-a!  You  break-a  my 
net-a!"  the  smaller  man,  the  one  with  the  ear 
rings,  screamed  back,  making  furious  gestures. 
"I  fix-a  you!  You-a  see,  I  fix-a  you!" 

This  time,  when  Paul  thrust  him  back,  he 
seized  the  oar  in  his  hands,  and  his  companion 
jumped  aboard.  I  put  my  back  against  the 
tiller,  and  no  sooner  had  he  landed,  and  before 
he  had  caught  his  balance,  than  I  met  him  with 
another  oar,  and  he  fell  heavily  backward  into 
the  boat.  It  was  getting  serious,  and  when  he 
arose  and  caught  my  oar,  and  I  realized  his 
strength,  I  confess  that  I  felt  a  goodly  tinge 
of  fear.  But  though  he  was  stronger  than  I, 
instead  of  dragging  me  overboard  when  he 
wrenched  on  the  oar,  he  merely  pulled  his  boat 
in  closer;  and  when  I  shoved,  the  boat  was 
forced  away.  Besides,  the  knife,  still  in  his 
right  hand,  made  him  awkward  and  somewhat 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  97 

counterbalanced  the  advantage  his  superior 
strength  gave  him.  Paul  and  his  enemy  were 
in  the  same  situation — a  sort  of  deadlock, 
which  continued  for  several  seconds,  but  which 
could  not  -last.  Several  times  I  shouted  that 
we  would  pay  for  whatever  damage  their  net 
had  suffered,  but  m$  words  seemed  to  be  with 
out  effect. 

Then  my  man  began  to  tuck  the  oar  under 
his  arm,  and  to  come  up  along  it,  slowly,  hand 
over  hand.  The  small  man  did  the  same  with 
Paul.  Moment  by  moment  they  came  closer, 
and  closer,  and  we  knew  that  the  end  was  only 
a  question  of  time. 

"Hard  up,  Bob!"  Paul  called  softly  to  me. 

I  gave  him  a  quick  glance,  and  caught  an 
instant's  glimpse  of  what  I  took  to  be  a  very 
pale  face  and  a  very  set  jaw. 

"Oh,  Bob,"  he  pleaded,  "hard  up  your 
helm!  Hard  up  your  helm,  Bob!" 

And  his  meaning  dawned  upon  me.  Still 
holding  to  my  end  of  the  oar,  I  shoved  the 
tiller  over  with  my  back,  and  even  bent  my 
body  to  keep  it  over.  As  it  was  the  Mist  was 
nearly  dead  before  the  wind,  and  this  man- 


98  DUTCH  COURAGE 

euver  was  bound  to  force  her  to  jibe  her  main 
sail  from  one  side  to  the  other.  I  could  tell  by 
the  "feel"  when  the  wind  spilled  out  of  the 
canvas  and  the  boom  tilted  up.  Paul's  man 
had  now  gained  a  footing  on  the  little  deck, 
and  my  man  was  just  scrambling  up. 

"Look  out!"  I  shouted  to  Paul.  "Here  she 
comes!" 

Both  he  and  I  let  go  the  oars  and  tumbled 
into  the  cockpit.  The  next  instant  the  big  boom 
and  the  heavy  blocks  swept  over  our  heads,  the 
main-sheet  whipping  past  like  a  great  coiling 
snake  and  the  Mist  heeling  over  with  a  violent 
jar.  Both  men  had  jumped  for  it,  but  in  some 
way  the  little  man  either  got  his  knife-hand 
jammed  or  fell  upon  it,  for  the  first  sight  we 
caught  of  him,  he  was  standing  in  his  boat, 
his  bleeding  fingers  clasped  close  between  his 
knees  and  his  face  all  twisted  with  pain  and 
helpless  rage. 

"Now's  our  chance!"  Paul  whispered. 
"Over  with  you!" 

And  on  either  side  of  the  rudder  we  lowered 
ourselves  into  the  water,  pressing  the  net  down 
with  our  feet,  till,  with  a  jerk,  it  went  clear. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  99 

Then  it  was  up  and  in,  Paul  at  the  main-sheet 
and  I  at  the  tiller,  the  Mist  plunging  ahead 
with  freedom  in  her  motion,  and  the  little  white 
light  astern  growing  small  and  smaller. 

"Now  that  you've  had  your  adventure,  do 
you  feel  any  better  I"  I  remember  asking  when 
we  had  changed  our  clothes  and  were  sitting 
dry  and  comfortable  again  in  the  cockpit. 

"Well,  if  I  don't  have  the  nightmare  for  a 
week  to  come" — Paul  paused  and  puckered 
his  brows  in  judicial  fashion — "it  will  be  be 
cause  I  can't  sleep,  that's  one  thing  sure!*' 


AN  ADVENTUBE  IN  THE  UPPEE  SEA 

I  AM  a  retired  captain  of  the  upper  sea. 
That  is  to  say,  when  I  was  a  younger  man 
(which  is  not  so  long  ago)  I  was  an  aeronaut 
and  navigated  that  aerial  ocean  which  is  all 
around  about  us  and  above  us.  Naturally  it 
is  a  hazardous  profession,  and  naturally  I 
have  had  many  thrilling  experiences,  the  most 
thrilling,  or  at  least  the  most  nerve-racking, 
being  the  one  I  am  about  to  relate. 

It  happened  before  I  went  in  for  hydrogen 
gas  balloons,  all  of  varnished  silk,  doubled 
and  lined,  and  all  that,  and  fit  for  voyages  of 
days  instead  of  mere  hours.  The  "Little 
Nassau"  (named  after  the  " Great  Nassau" 
of  many  years  back)  was  the  balloon  I  was 
making  ascents  in  at  the  time.  It  was  a  fair- 
sized,  hot-air  affair,  of  single  thickness,  good 
for  an  hour's  flight  or  so  and  capable  of  at 
taining  an  altitude  of  a  mile  or  more.  It 

answered  my  purpose,  for  my  act  at  the  time 

100 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  101 

was  making  half-mile  parachute  jumps  at  rec 
reation  parks  and  country  fairs.  I  was  in 
Oakland,  a  California  town,  filling  a  summer's 
engagement  with  a  street  railway  company. 
The  company  owned  a  large  park  outside  the 
city,  and  of  course  it  was  to  its  interest  to  pro 
vide  attractions  which  would  send  the  towns 
people  over  its  line,  when  they  went  out  to 
get  a  whiff  of  country  air.  My  contract 
called  for  two  ascensions  weekly,  and  my  act 
was  an  especially  taking  feature,  for  it  was 
on  my  days  that  the  largest  crowds  were 
drawn. 

Before  you  can  understand  what  happened, 
I  must  first  explain  a  bit  about  the  nature  of 
the  hot  air  balloon  which  is  used  for  parachute 
jumping.  If  you  have  ever  witnessed  such  a 
jump,  you  will  remember  that  directly  the 
parachute  was  cut  loose  the  balloon  turned 
upside  down,  emptied  itself  of  its  smoke  and 
heated  air,  flattened  out  and  fell  straight  down, 
beating  the  parachute  to  the  ground.  Thus 
there  is  no  chasing  a  big  deserted  bag  for 
miles  and  miles  across  the  country,  and  much 
time,  as  well  as  trouble,  is  thereby  saved.  This 


102  DUTCH  COURAGE 

maneuver  is  accomplished  by  attaching  a 
weight,  at  the  end  of  a  long  rope,  to  the  top 
of  the  balloon.  The  aeronaut,  with  his  para 
chute  and  trapeze,  hangs  to  the  bottom  of  the 
balloon,  and,  weighing  more,  keeps  it  right  side 
down.  But  when  he  lets  go,  the  weight  at 
tached  to  the  top  immediately  drags  the  top 
down,  and  the  bottom,  which  is  the  open  mouth, 
goes  up,  the  heated  air  pouring  out.  The 
weight  used  for  this  purpose  on  the  "Little 
Nassau"  was  a  bag  of  sand. 

On  the  particular  day  I  have  in  mind  there 
was  an  unusually  large  crowd  in  attendance, 
and  the  police  had  their  hands  full  keeping  the 
people  back.  There  was  much  pushing  and 
shoving,  and  the  ropes  were  bulging  with  the 
pressure  of  men,  women  and  children.  As  I 
came  down  from  the  dressing  room  I  noticed 
two  girls  outside  the  ropes,  of  about  fourteen 
and  sixteen,  and  inside  the  rope  a  youngster 
of  eight  or  nine.  They  were  holding  him  by 
the  hands,  and  he  was  struggling,  excitedly 
and  half  in  laughter,  to  get  away  from  them. 
I  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the  time — just  a 
bit  of  childish  play,  no  more;  and  it  was  only 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  103 

in  the  light  of  after  events  that  the  scene  was 
impressed  vividly  upon  me. 

"Keep  them  cleared  out,  George!"  I  called 
to  my  assistant.  "We  don't  want  any  acci 
dents." 

"Ay,"  he  answered,  "that  I  will,  Charley." 

George  Guppy  had  helped  me  in  no  end  of 
ascents,  and  because  of  his  coolness,  judgment 
and  absolute  reliability  I  had  come  to  trust  my 
life  in  his  hands  with  the  utmost  confidence. 
His  business  it  was  to  overlook  the  inflating 
of  the  balloon,  and  to  see  that  everything 
about  the  parachute  was  in  perfect  working 
order. 

The  "Little  Nassau"  was  already  filled  and 
straining  at  the  guys.  The  parachute  lay  flat 
along  the  ground  and  beyond  it  the  trapeze.  I 
tossed  aside  my  overcoat,  took  my  position, 
and  gave  the  signal  to  let  go.  As  you  know, 
the  first  rush  upward  from  the  earth  is  very 
sudden,  and  this  time  the  balloon,  when  it  first 
caught  the  wind,  heeled  violently  over  and  was 
longer  than  usual  in  righting.  I  looked  down 
at  the  old  familiar  sight  of  the  world  rushing 
away  from  me.  And  there  were  the  thousands 


104  DUTCH  COURAGE 

of  people,  every  face  silently  upturned.  And 
the  silence  startled  me,  for,  as  crowds  went, 
this  was  the  time  for  them  to  catch  their  first 
breath  and  send  up  a  roar  of  applause.  But 
there  was  no  hand-clapping,  whistling,  cheer 
ing — only  silence.  And  instead,  clear  as  a  bell 
and  distinct,  without  the  slightest  shake  or 
quaver,  came  George's  voice  through  the  mega 
phone  : 

"Bide  her  down,  Charley!  Eide  the  balloon 
down!" 

What  had  happened?  I  waved  my  hand  to 
show  that  I  had  heard,  and  began  to  think. 
Had  something  gone  wrong  with  the  para 
chute?  Why  should  I  ride  the  balloon  down 
instead  of  making  the  jump  which  thousands 
were  waiting  to  see?  What  was  the  matter? 
And  as  I  puzzled,  I  received  another  start. 
The  earth  was  a  thousand  feet  beneath,  and 
yet  I  heard  a  child  crying  softly,  and  seem 
ingly  very  close  to  hand.  And  though  the 
"Little  Nassau"  was  shooting  skyward  like  a 
rocket,  the  crying  did  not  grow  fainter  and 
fainter  and  die  away.  I  confess  I  was  almost 
on  the  edge  of  a  funk,  when,  unconsciously  fol- 


- 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  105 

lowing  up  the  noise  with  my  eyes,  I  looked 
above  me  and  saw  a  boy  astride  the  sandbag 
which  was  to  bring  the  "Little  Nassau "  to 
earth.  And  it  was  the  same  little  boy  I  had 
seen  struggling  with  the  two  girls — his  sisters, 
as  I  afterward  learned. 

There  he  was,  astride  the  sandbag  and  hold 
ing  on  to  the  rope  for  dear  life.  A  puff  of 
wind  heeled  the  balloon  slightly,  and  he  swung 
out  into  space  for  ten  or  a  dozen  feet,  and 
back  again,  fetching  up  against  the  tight  can 
vas  with  a  thud  which  even  shook  me,  thirty 
feet  or  more  beneath.  I  thought  to  see  him 
dashed  loose,  but  he  clung  on  and  whimpered. 
They  told  me  afterward,  how,  at  the  moment 
they  were  casting  off  the  balloon,  the  little 
fellow  had  torn  away  from  his  sisters,  ducked 
under  the  rope,  and  deliberately  jumped 
astride  the  sandbag.  It  has  always  been  a 
wonder  to  me  that  he  was  not  jerked  off  in 
the  first  rush. 

Well,  I  felt  sick  all  over  as  I  looked  at  him 
there,  and  I  understood  why  the  balloon  had 
taken  longer  to  right  itself,  and  why  George 
had  called  after  me  to  ride  her  down.  Should 


106  DUTCH  COURAGE 

I  cut  loose  with  the  parachute,  the  bag  would 
at  once  turn  upside  down,  tempty  itself,  and 
begin  its  swift  descent.  The  only  hope  lay  in 
my  riding  her  down  and  in  the  boy  holding 
on.  There  was  no  possible  way  for  me  to 
reach  him.  No  man  could  climb  the  slim, 
closed  parachute ;  and  even  if  a  man  could,  and 
made  the  mouth  of  the  balloon,  what  could  he 
do?  Straight  out,  and  fifteen  feet  away,  trailed 
the  boy  on  his  ticklish  perch,  and  those  fifteen 
feet  were  empty  space. 

I  thought  far  more  quickly  than  it  takes  to 
tell  all  this,  and  realized  on  the  instant  that 
the  boy's  attention  must  be  called  away  from 
his  terrible  danger.  Exercising  all  the  self- 
control  I  possessed,  and  striving  to  make 
myself  very  calm,  I  said  cheerily: 

" Hello,  up  there,  who  are  you!" 

He  looked  down  at  me,  choking  back  his 
tears  and  brightening  up,  but  just  then  the 
balloon  ran  into  a  cross-current,  turned  half 
around  and  lay  over.  This  set  him  swinging 
back  and  forth,  and  he  fetched  the  canvas  an 
other  bump.  Then  he  began  to  cry  again. 

"Isn't  it  great?"  I  asked  heartily,  as  though 


'HELLO,  UP  THERE,  WHO  ABE  YOU?" 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  107 

it  was  the  most  enjoyable  thing  in  the  world; 
and,  without  waiting  for  him  to  answer: 
"What's  your  name  I" 

"Tommy  Dermott,"  he  answered. 

"Glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Tommy 
Dermott,"  I  went  on.  "But  I'd  like  to  know 
who  said  you  could  ride  up  with  me?" 

He  laughed  and  said  he  just  thought  he'd 
ride  up  for  the  fun  of  it.  And  so  we  went 
on,  I  sick  with  fear  for  him,  and  cudgeling 
my  brains  to  keep  up  the  conversation.  I  knew 
that  it  was  all  I  could  do,  and  that  his  life 
depended  upon  my  ability  to  keep  his  mind  off 
his  danger.  I  pointed  out  to  him  the  great 
panorama  spreading  away  to  the  horizon  and 
four  thousand  feet  beneath  us.  There  lay  San 
Francisco  Bay  like  a  great  placid  lake,  the 
haze  of  smoke  over  the  city,  the  Golden  Gate, 
the  ocean  fog-rim  beyond,  and  Mount  Tamal- 
pais  over  all,  clear-cut  and  sharp  against  the 
sky.  Directly  below  us  I  could  see  a  buggy, 
apparently  crawling,  but  I  knew  from  experi 
ence  that  the  men  in  it  were  lashing  the  horses 
on  our  trail. 

But  he  grew  tired  of  looking  around,  and  I 


108  DUTCH  COURAGE 

could  see  he  was  beginning  to  get  fright 
ened. 

"How  would  you  like  to  go  in  for  the  busi 
ness  ?"  I  asked. 

He  cheered  up  at  once  and  asked  "Do  you 
get  good  pay?" 

But  the  "Little  Nassau,"  beginning  to  cool, 
had  started  on  its  long  descent,  and  ran  into 
counter  currents  which  bobbed  it  roughly 
about.  This  swung  the  boy  around  pretty 
lively,  smashing  him  into  the  bag  once  quite 
severely.  His  lip  began  to  tremble  at  this, 
and  he  was  crying  again.  I  tried  to  joke  and 
laugh,  but  it  was  no  use.  His  pluck  was  ooz 
ing  out,  and  at  any  moment  I  was  prepared  to 
see  him  go  shooting  past  me. 

I  was  in  despair.  Then,  suddenly,  I  remem 
bered  how  one  fright  could  destroy  another 
fright,  and  I  frowned  up  at  him  and  shouted 
sternly : 

"You  just  hold  on  to  that  rope!  If  you 
don't  I'll  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your 
life  when  I  get  you  down  on  the  ground !  Un 
derstand?" 

"Ye-ye-yes,  sir,"  he  whimpered,  and  I  saw 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  109 

that  the  thing  had  worked.  I  was  nearer  to 
him  than  the  earth,  and  he  was  more  afraid 
of  me  than  of  falling. 

"Why,  youVe  got  a  snap  up  there  on  that 
soft  bag,"  I  rattled  on. 

"Yes,"  I  assured  him,  "this  bar  down  here 
is  hard  and  narrow,  and  it  hurts  to  sit  on  it." 

Then  a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  forgot  all 
about  his  aching  fingers. 

"When  are  you  going  to  jump?"  he  asked. 
"That's  what  I  came  up  to  see." 

I  was  sorry  to  disappoint  him,  but  I  wasn't 
going  to  make  any  jump. 

But  he  objected  to  that.  "It  said  so  in  the 
papers,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  care,"  I  answered.  "I'm  feeling 
sort  of  lazy  today,  and  I'm  just  going  to  ride 
down  the  balloon.  It's  my  balloon  and  I  guess 
I  can  do  as  I  please  about  it.  And,  anyway, 
we're  almost  down  now." 

And  we  were,  too,  and  sinking  fast.  And 
right  there  and  then  that  youngster  began  to 
argue  with  me  as  to  whether  it  was  right  for 
me  to  disappoint  the  people,  and  to  urge  their 
claims  upon  me.  And  it  was  with  a  happy, 


110  DUTCH  COURAGE 

heart  that  I  held  up  my  end  of  it,  justifying 
myself  in  a  thousand  different  ways,  till  we 
shot  over  a  grove  of  eucalyptus  trees  and 
dipped  to  meet  the  earth. 

"Hold  on  tight!"  I  shouted,  swinging  down 
from  the  trapeze  by  my  hands  in  order  to 
make  a  landing  on  my  feet. 

We  skimmed  past  a  barn,  missed  a  mesh  of 
clothesline,  frightened  the  barnyard  chickens 
into  a  panic,  and  rose  up  again  clear  over  a 
haystack — all  this  almost  quicker  than  it  takes 
to  tell.  Then  we  came  down  in  an  orchard, 
and  when  my  feet  had  touched  the  ground  I 
fetched  up  the  balloon  by  a  icouple  of  turns  of 
the  trapeze  around  an  apple  tree. 

I  have  had  my  balloon  catch  fire  in  mid  air, 
I  have  hung  on  the  icornice  of  a  ten-story 
house,  I  have  dropped  like  a  bullet  for  six 
hundred  feet  when  a  parachute  was  slow  in 
opening;  but  never  have  I  felt  so  weak  and 
faint  and  sick  as  when  I  staggered  toward  the 
unscratched  boy  and  gripped  him  by  the  arm. 

"Tommy  Dermott,"  I  said,  when  I  had  got 
my  nerves  back  somewhat.  "Tommy  Dermott, 
I'm  going  to  lay  you  across  my  knee  and  give 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  111 

you  the  greatest  thrashing  a  boy  ever  got  in 
the  world's  history." 

"No,  you  don't,"  he  answered,  squirming 
around.  "You  said  you  wouldn't  if  I  held  on 
tight." 

"That's  all  right,"  I  said,  "but  I'm  going 
to,  ^just  the  same.  The  fellows  who  go  up  in 
balloons  are  bad,  unprincipled  men,  and  I'm 
going  to  give  you  a  lesson  right  now  to  make 
you  stay  away  from  them,  and  from  balloons, 
too." 

And  then  I  gave  it  to  him,  and  if  it  wasn't 
the  greatest  thrashing  in  the  world,  it  was 
the  greatest  he  ever  got. 

But  it  took  all  the  grit  out  of  me,  left  me 
nerve-broken,  that  experience.  I  canceled  the 
engagement  with  the  street  railway  company, 
and  later  on  went  in  for  gas.  Gas  is  much 
the  safer,  anyway. 


BALD-FACE 

of  bear " 

The  Klondike  King  paused  meditatively,  and 
the  group  on  the  hotel  porch  hitched  their 
chairs  up  closer. 

"Talkin*  of  bear,"  he  went  on,  "now  up  in 
the  Northern  Country  there  are  various  kinds. 
On  the  Little  Pelly,  for  instance,  they  come 
down  that  thick  in  the  summer  to  feed  on  the 
salmon  that  you  can't  get  an  Indian  or  white 
man  to  go  nigher  than  a  day's  journey  to  the 
place.  And  up  in  the  Eampart  Mountains 
there's  a  curious  kind  of  bear  called  the  l side- 
hill  grizzly.'  That's  because  he's  traveled  on 
the  side-hills  ever  since  the  Flood,  and  the  two 
legs  on  the  down-hill  side  are  twice  as  long  as 
the  two  on  the  up-hill.  And  he  can  out-run  a 
jack  rabbit  when  he  gets  steam  up.  Danger 
ous?  Catch  you?  Bless  you,  no.  All  a  man 
has  to  do  is  to  circle  down  the  hill  and  run 
the  other  way.  You  see,  that  throws  mister 

112 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  113 

bear's  long  legs  up  the  hill  and  the  short  ones 
down.  Yes,  he's  a  mighty  peculiar  creature, 
but  that  wasn't  what  I  started  in  to  tell 
about.  y=*^ 

" They've  got  another  kind  of  bear  up  on 
the  Yukon,  and  his  legs  are  all  right,  too. 
He's  called  the  Jbald-f ace  grizzly,  and  he's  jest 
as  big  as  he  is  bad.  It's  only  the  fool  white 
men  that  think  of  hunting  him.  Indians  got 
too  much  sense.  But  there's  one  thing  about 
the  bald- face  that  a  man  has  to  learn:  Jie 
nevei^ive^  thejtra.il  to  _  mortal  Creature.  If 
you  see  him  comin',  and  you  value  your  skin, 
you  get  out  of  his  path.  If  you  don't,  there's 
bound  to  be  trouble.  If  the  bald-face  met 
Jehovah  Himself  on  the  trail,  he'd  not  give 
him  an  inch.  O,  he's  a  selfish  beggar,  take 
my  word  for  it.  But  I  had  to^learn  allj;his. 
Didn't  know  anything  about  bear  when  I  went 
into  the  country,  exceptin'  when  I  was  a 
youngster  I'd  seen  a  heap  of  cinnamons  and 
that  little  black  kind.  And  they  was  nothin' 
to  be  scared  at. 

"Well,  after  we'd  got  settled  down  on  our 
claim,  I  went  up  on  the  hill  lookin'  for  a  likely 


114  DUTCH  COURAGE 

piece  of  birch  to  make  an  ax-handle  out  of. 
But  it  was  pretty  hard  to  find  the  right  kind, 
and  I  kept  a-goin'  and  kept  a-goin'  for  nigh 
on  two  hours.  Wasn't  in  no  hurry  to  make  my 
choice,  you  see,  for  I  was  headin'  down  to  the 
ForkSj  where  I  was  goin'  to  borrow  a  log-bit 
from  Old  Joe  Gee.  When  I  started,  I'd  put  a 
couple  of  sour-dough  biscuits  and  some  sow 
belly  in  my  pocket  in  case  I  might  get  hun 
gry.  And  I'm  tellin'  you  that  lunch  came  in 
right  handy  before  I  was  done  with  it. 

"Bime-by  I  hit  upon  the  likeliest  little  birch 
saplin',  right  in  the  middle  of  a  clump  of  jack 
pine.  Jest  as  I  raised  my  hand-ax  I  h 


to  cast  my  eyes  down  the^MlLj  There  was  a 
big   bear  comin'   up,    swingm'    along    on   all 

fours,    right    in    my    direction.      It    was    a 

t    *«r\  \  .  «-* 
bald-face,  ybufc  little  I  knew  then  about  such 

kind. 

"  'Jest  watch  me  scare  him,'  I  says  to  my 
self,  and  I  stayed  out  of  sight  in  the  trees. 

"Well,  I  waited  till  he  was  about  a  hundred 
feet  off,  then  out  I  runs  into  the  open. 

"  'Oof!  oof!'  I  hollered  at  him,  expectin'  to 
see  him  turn  tail  like  chain  lightning. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  115 

"Turn  tail?  He  jest  throwed  up  his  head 
for  one  good  look  and  came  a  comin'. 

"  'Oof !  oof !'  I  hollered,  louder 'n  ever.  But 
he  jest  came  a  comin'. 

"  'Consarn  you!'  I  says  to  myself,  gettin' 
mad.  'I'll  make  you  jump  the  trail.' 

"So  I  grabs  my  hat,  and  wavin'  and  hol- 
lerin'  starts  down  the  trail  to  meet  him.  A 
big  sugar  pine  had  gone  down  in  a  windfall 
and  lay  about  breast  high.  I  stops  jest  behind 
it,  old  bald-face  comin'  all  the  time.  It  was 
jest  then  that  fear  came  to  me.  I  yelled  like  a 
Comanche  Indian  as  he  raised  up  to  come 
over  the  log,  and  fired  my  hat  full  in  his  face. 
Then  I  lit  out. 

"SavJ  I  rounded  the  end  of  that  log  and 
put  down  the  hill  at  a  two-twenty  clip,  old 
bald-face  reachin'  for  me  at  every  jump.  At 
the  bottom  was  a  broad,  open  flat,  quarter  of 
a  mile  to  timber  and  full  of  niggerheads.  I 
knew  if  ever  I  slipped  I  was  a  goner,  but  I  hit 
only  the  high  places  till  you  couldn't  a-seen 
my  trail  for  smoke.  And  the  old  devil  snortin' 
along  hot  after  me.  Midway  across,  he 
reached  for  me,  jest  strikin'  the  heel  of  my 


116  DUTCH  COURAGE 

moccasin  with  Ms  claw.  Tell  you  I  was  doin' 
some  tall  thinkin'  jest  then.  I  knew  he  had 
the  wind  of  me  and  I  could  never  make  the 
brush,,  so  I  pulled  my  little  lunch  out  of  my 
pocket  and  dropped  it  on  the  fly. 

"  Never  looked  back  till  I  hit  the  timber, 
and  then  he  was  mouthing  the  biscuits  in  a 
way  which  wasn't  nice  to  see,  considerin'  how 
close  he'd  been  to  me.  I  never  slacked  up. 
No,  sir!  Jest  kept  hittin'  the  trail  for  all  there 
was  in  me.  But  jest  as  I  came  around  a  bend, 
heelin'  it  right  lively  I  tell  you,  what'd  I  see 
in  middle  of  the  trail  before  me,  and  comin' 
my  way,  but  another  bald-face! 

"  'Whoof !'  he  says  when  he  spotted  me,  and 
he  came  a-runnin.' 

"Instanter  I  was  about  and  hittin'  the  back 
trail  twice  as  fast  as  I'd  come.  The  way  this 
one  was  puffin'  after  me,  I'd  clean  forgot  all 
about  the  other  bald-face.  First  thing  I  knew 
I  seen  him  mosying  along  kind  of  easy,  won- 
derin*  most  likely  what  had  become  of  me, 
and  if  I  tasted  as  good  as  my  lunch.  SayJ 
when  he  seen  me  he  looked  real  pleased.  And 
then  he  came  a-jumpin'  for  me. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  117 

"  <Whoof!'  lie  says. 

11  'Whoof !'  says  the  one  behind  me.  J&J- 
''Bang  I  goes,  slap  off  the  trail  sideways, 
a-plungin'  and  a-clawin'  through  the  brush 
like  a  wild  man.  By  this  time  I  was  clean 
crazed;  thought  the  whole  country  was  full  of 
bald-faces.  Next  thing  I  knows — whop,  I 
comes  up  against  something  in  a  tangle  of  wild 
blackberry  bushes.  Then  that  something  hits 
me  a  slap  and  closes  in  on  me.  Another  bald- 
face  !  And  then  and  there  I  knew  I  was  gone 
«**.„ — »— ~ 

for  sure.  But  I  made  up  to  die  game,  and  of 
all  the  rampin'  and  roarin'  and  rippin'  and 
tearin'  you  ever  see,  that  was  the  worst. 

"  'My  God!  0  my  wife!'  it  says.  And  I 
looked  and  it  was  a  man  I  was  hammering  into 
kingdom  come. 

' '  '  Thought  you  was  a  bear, '  says  I. 

"He  kind  of  caught  his  breath  and  looked 
at  me.  Then  he  says,  'Same  here.' 

"Seemed  as  though  he'd  been  chased  by  a 
bald-face,  too,  and  had  hid  in  the  blackberries. 
So  that's  how  we  mistook  each  other. 

"But  by  that  time  the  racket  on  the  trail 
was  something  terrible,  and  we  didn't  wait 


118  DUTCH  COURAGE 

to  explain  matters.  That  afternoon  we  got 
Joe  Gee  and  some  rifles  and  came  back  loaded 
for  bear.  Mebbe  you  won't  believe  me,  but 
when  we  got  to  the  spot,  there  was  the  two 
bald- faces  lyin'  dead.  You  see,  when  I  jumped 
out,  they  came  together,  and  each  refused  to 
give  trail  to  the  other.  So  they  fought  it  out. 
"Talkin'  of  bear.  As  I  was  sayin' " 


IN  YEDDO  BAY 

SOMEWHEEE  along  Theater  Street  he  had  lost 
it.  He  remembered  being  hustled  somewhat 
roughly  on  the  bridge  over  one  of  the  canals 
that  cross  that  busy  thoroughfare.  Possibly 
some  slant-eyed,  light-fingered  pickpocket  was 
even  then  enjoying  the  fifty-odd  yen  his  purse 
had  contained.  And  then  again,  he  thought, 
he  might  have  lost  it  himself,  just  lost  it  care 
lessly. 

Hopelessly,  and  for  the  twentieth  time,  he 
searched  in  all  his  pockets  for  the  missing 
purse.  It  was  not  there.  His  hand  lingered  in 
his  empty  hip-pocket,  and  he  woefully  regarded 
the  voluble  and  vociferous  restaurant-keeper, 
who  insanely  clamored:  " Twenty-five  sen! 
You  pay  now!  Twenty-five  sen!" 

"But  my  purse!"  the  boy  said.  "I  tell  you 
I've  lost  it  somewhere." 

Whereupon  the  restaurant-keeper  lifted  his 
arms  indignantly  and  shrieked:  "Twenty -five 
sen !  Twenty-five  sen !  You  pay  now ! ' ' 

119 


120  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Quite  a  crowd  had  collected,  and  it  was 
growing  embarrassing  for  Alf  Davis. 

It  was  so  ridiculous  and  petty,  Alf  thought. 
Such  a  disturbance  about  nothing!  And,  de 
cidedly,  he  must  be  doing  something. 
Thoughts  of  diving  wildly  through  that  for 
est  of  legs,  and  of  striking  out  at  whomsoever 
opposed  him,  flashed  through  his  mind;  but, 
as  though  divining  his  purpose,  one  of  the 
waiters,  a  short  and  chunky  chap  with  an  evil- 
looking  cast  in  one  eye,  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"You  pay  now!  You  pay  now!  Twenty-five 
sen!"  yelled  the  proprietor,  hoarse  with  rage. 

Alf  was  red  in  the  face,  too,  from  mortifica 
tion;  but  he  resolutely  set  out  on  another  ex 
ploration.  He  had  given  up  the  purse,  pinning 
his  last  hope  on  stray  coins.  In  the  little 
change-pocket  of  his  coat  he  found  a  ten-sen 
piece  and  five-copper  sen;  and  remembering 
having  recently  missed  a  ten-sen  piece,  he  cut 
the  seam  of  the  pocket  and  resurrected  the 
coin  from  the  depths  of  the  lining..  Twenty- 
five  sen  he  held  in  his  hand,  the  sum  required 
to  pay  for  the  supper  he  had  eaten.  He  turned 
them  over  to  the  proprietor,  who  counted 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  121 

them,  grew  suddenly  calm,  and  bowed  obse 
quiously — in  fact,  the  whole  crowd  bowed  ob 
sequiously  and  melted  away. 

Alf  Davis  was  a  young  sailor,  just  turned 
sixteen,  on  board  the  Annie  Mine,  an  Ameri 
can  sailing- schooner,  which  had  run  into  Yoko 
hama  to  ship  its  season's  catch  of  skins  to 
London.  And  in  this,  his  second  trip  ashore, 
he  was  beginning  to  snatch  his  first  puzzling 
glimpses  of  the  Oriental  mind.  He  laughed 
when  the  bowing  and  kotowing  was  over,  and 
turned  on  his.  heel  to  confront  another  prob 
lem.  How  was  he  to  get  aboard  ship?  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  there  would  be 
no  ship's  boats  ashore,  while  the  outlook  for 
hiring  a  native  boatman,  with  nothing  but 
empty  pockets  to  draw  upon,  was  not  particu 
larly  inviting. 

Keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  shipmates,  he 
went  down  to  the  pier.  At  Yokohama  there 
are  no  long  lines  of  wharves.  The  shipping 
lies  out  at  anchor,  enabling  a  few  hundred  of 
the  short-legged  people  to  make  a  livelihood  by 
carrying  passengers  to  and  from  the  shore. 

A  dozen  sampan  men  and  boys  hailed  Alf 


122  DUTCH  COURAGE 

and  offered  their  services.  He  selected  the 
most  favorable-looking  one,  an  old  and  bene 
ficent-appearing  man  with  a  withered  leg. 
Alf  stepped  into  his  sampan  and  sat  down. 
It  was  quite  dark  and  he  could  not  see  what 
the  old  fellow  was  doing,  though  he  evidently 
was  doing  nothing  about  shoving  off  and  get 
ting  under  way.  At  last  he  limped  over  and 
peered  into  Alf's  face. 

"Ten  sen,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  know,  ten  sen,"  Alf  answered  care 
lessly.  "But  hurry  up.  American  schooner." 

"Ten  sen.  You  pay  now,"  the  old  fellow 
insisted. 

Alf  felt  himself  grow  hot  all  over  at  the 
hateful  words  "pay  now."  "You  take  me  to 
American  schooner ;  then  I  pay, ' '  he  said. 

But  the  man  stood  up  patiently  before  him, 
held  out  his  hand,  and  said,  "Ten  sen.  You 
pay  now." 

Alf  tried  to  explain.  He  had  no  money.  He 
had  lost  his  purse.  But  he  would  pay.  As 
soon  as  he  got  aboard  the  American  schooner, 
then  he  would  pay.  No;  he  would  not  even 
go  aboard  the  American  schooner.  He  would 


AND  OTHER  STOEIES  123 

call  to  his  shipmates,  and  they  would  give  the 
sampan  man  the  ten  sen  first.  After  that  he 
would  go  aboard.  So  it  was  all  right,  of 
course. 

To  all  of  which  the  beneficent-appearing  old 
man  replied:  "You  pay  now.  Ten  sen."  And, 
to  make  matters  worse,  the  other  sampan  men 
squatted  on  the  pier  steps,  listening. 

Alf,  chagrined  and  angry,  stood  up  to  step 
ashore.  But  the  old  fellow  laid  a  detaining 
hand  on  his  sleeve.  "You  give  shirt  now.  I 
take  you  'Mexican  schooner,"  he  proposed. 

Then  it  was  that  all  of  Alf 's  American  in 
dependence  flamed  up  in  his  breast.  The 
Anglo-Saxon  has  a  born  dislike  of  being  im 
posed  upon,  and  to  Alf  this  was  sheer  rob 
bery  !  Ten  sen  was  equivalent  to  six  American 
cents,  while  his  shirt,  which  was  of  good  qual 
ity  and  was  new,  had  cost  him  two  dollars. 

He  turned  his  back  on  the  man  without  a 
word,  and  went  out  to  the  end  of  the  pier,  the 
crowd,  laughing  with  great  gusto,  following  at 
his  heels.  The  majority  of  them  were  heavy- 
set,  muscular  fellows,  and  the  July  night  being- 
one  of  sweltering  heat,  they  were  clad  in  the 


124  DUTCH  COUEAGE 

least  possible  raiment.  The  water-people  of 
any  race  are  rough  and  turbulent,  and  it 
struck  Alf  that  to  be  out  at  midnight  on  a 
pier-end  with  such  a  crowd  of  wharfmen,  in 
a  big  Japanese  city,  was  not  as  safe  as  it 
might  be. 

One  burly  fellow,  with  a  shock  of  black  hair 
and  ferocious  eyes,  came  up.  The  rest  shoved 
in  after  him  to  take  part  in  the  discussion. 

"Give  me  shoes,"  the  man  said.  "Give  me 
shoes  now.  I  take  you  'Merican  schooner." 

Alf  shook  his  head,  whereat  the  crowd  clam 
ored  that  he  accept  the  proposal.  Now  the 
Anglo-Saxon  is  so  constituted  that  to  brow 
beat  or  bully  him  is  the  last  way  under  the  sun 
of  getting  him  to  do  any  certain  thing.  He 
will  dare  willingly,  but  he  will  not  permit  him 
self  to  be  driven.  So  this  attempt  of  the  boat 
men  to  force  Alf  only  aroused  all  the  dogged 
stubbornness  of  his  race.  The  same  qualities 
were  in  him  that  are  in  men  who  lead  forlorn 
nopes ;  and  there,  under  the  stars,  on  the  lonely 
pier,  encircled  by  the  jostling  and  shouldering 
^ang,  he  resolved  that  he  would  die  rather 
than  submit  to  the  indignity  of  being  robbed  of 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  125 

a  single  stitch  of  clothing.  Not  value,  but 
principle,  was  at  stake. 

Then  somebody  thrust  roughly  against  him 
from  behind.  He  whirled  about  with  flashing 
eyes,  and  the  circle  involuntarily  gave  ground. 
But  the  crowd  was  growing  more  boisterous. 
Each  and  every  article  of  clothing  he  had  on 
was  demanded  by  one  or  another,  and  these 
demands  were  shouted  simultaneously  at  the 
tops  of  very  healthy  lungs. 

Alf  had  long  since  ceased  to  say  anything, 
but  he  knew  that  the  situation  was  getting 
dangerous,  and  that  the  only  thing  left  to  him 
was  to  get  away.  His  face  was  set  doggedly, 
his  eyes  glinted  like  points  of  steel,  and  his 
body  was  firmly  and  confidently  poised.  This 
air  of  determination  sufficiently  impressed  the 
boatmen  to  make  them  give  way  before  him 
when  he  started  to  walk  toward  the  shore-end 
of  the  pier.  But  they  trooped  along  beside 
him  and  behind  him,  shouting  and  laughing 
more  noisily  than  ever.  One  of  the  young 
sters,  about  Alf 's  size  and  build,  impudently 
snatched  his  cap  from  his  head ;  but  before  he 
could  put  it  on  his  own  head,  Alf  struck  out 


126  DUTCH  COURAGE 

from  the  shoulder,  and  sent  the  fellow  rolling 
on  the  stones. 

The  cap  flew  out  of  his  hand  and  disap 
peared  among  the  many  legs.  Alf  did  some 
quick  thinking;  his  sailor  pride  would  not 
permit  him  to  leave  the  cap  in  their  hands. 
He  followed  in  the  direction  it  had  sped,  and 
soon  found  it  under  the  bare  foot  of  a  stal 
wart  fellow,  who  kept  his  weight  stolidly  upon 
it.  Alf  tried  to  get  the  cap  out  by  a  sudden 
jerk,  but  failed.  He  shoved  against  the  man's 
leg,  but  the  man  only  grunted.  It  was  chal 
lenge  direct,  and  Alf  accepted  it.  Like  a  flash 
one  leg  was  behind  the  man  and  Alf  had  thrust 
strongly  with  his  shoulder  against  the  fel 
low's  chest.  Nothing  could  save  the  man 
from  the  fierce  vigorousness  of  the  trick,  and 
he  was  hurled  over  and  backward. 

Next,  the  cap  was  on  Alf 's  head  and  his  fists 
were  up  before  him.  Then  he  whirled  about 
to  prevent  attack  from  behind,  and  all  those 
in  that  quarter  fled  precipitately.  This  was 
what  he  wanted.  None  remained  between  him 
and  the  shore  end.  The  pier  was  narrow. 
Facing  them  and  threatening  with  his  fist 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  127 

those  who  attempted  to  pass  him  on  either 
side,  he  continued  his  retreat.  It  was  exciting 
work,  walking  backward  and  at  the  same  time 
checking  that  surging  mass  of  men.  But  the 
dark-skinned  peoples,  the  world  over,  have 
learned  to  respect  the  white  man's  fist;  and  it 
was  the  battles  fought  by  many  sailors,  more 
than  his  own  warlike  front,  that  gave  Alf  the 
victory. 

"VvTiere  the  pier  adjoins  the  shore  was  the 
station  of  the  harbor  police,  and  Alf  backed 
into  the  electric-lighted  office,  very  much  to 
the  amusement  of  the  dapper  lieutenant  in 
charge.  The  sampan  men,  grown  quiet  and 
orderly,  clustered  like  flies  by  the  open  door, 
through  which  they  could  see  and  hear  what 
passed. 

Alf  explained  his  difficulty  in  few  words,  and 
demanded,  as  the  privilege  of  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  that  the  lieutenant  put  him 
aboard  in  the  police-boat.  The  lieutenant,  in 
turn,  who  knew  all  the  "  rules  and  regula 
tions"  by  heart,  explained  that  the  harbor 
police  were  not  ferrymen,  and  that  the  police- 
boats  had  other  functions  to  perform  than  that 


128  DUTCH  COURAGE 

of  transporting  belated  and  penniless  sailor- 
men  to  their  ships.  He  also  said  he  knew 
the  sampan  men  to  be  natural-born  robbers, 
but  that  so  long  as  they  robbed  within  the  law 
he  was  powerless.  It  was  their  right  to  col 
lect  fares  in  advance,  and  who  was  he  to  com 
mand  them  to  take  a  passenger  and  collect 
fare  at  the  journey's  end?  Alf  acknowledged 
the  justice  of  his  remarks,  but  suggested  that 
while  he  could  not  command  he  might  per 
suade.  The  lieutenant  was  willing  to  oblige, 
and  went  to  the  door,  from  where  he  delivered 
a  speech  to  the  crowd.  But  they,  too,  knew 
their  rights,  and,  when  the  officer  had  finished, 
shouted  in  chorus  their  abominable  "Ten  sen! 
You  pay  now!  You  pay  now!" 

"You  see,  I  can  do  nothing, "  said  the  lieu 
tenant,  who,  by  the  way,  spoke  perfect  English. 
"But  I  have  warned  them  not  to  harm  or  mo 
lest  you,  so  you  will  be  safe,  at  least.  The 
night  is  warm  and  half  over.  Lie  down  some 
where  and  go  to  sleep.  I  would  pern.lt  you  to 
sleep  here  in  the  office,  were  it  not  against 
the  rules  and  regulations. " 

Alf  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  and  cour- 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  129 

tesy;  but  the  sampan  men  had  aroused  all  his 
pride  of  race  and  doggedness,  and  the  problem 
could  not  be  solved  that  way.  To  sleep  out  the 
night  on  the  stones  was  an  acknowledgment 
of  defeat. 

"The  sampan  men  refuse  to  take  me  out?" 

The  lieutenant  nodded. 

"And  you  refuse  to  take  me  out?" 

Again  the  lieutenant  nodded. 

"Well,  then,  it's  not  in  the  rules  and  regu 
lations  that  you  can  prevent  my  taking  my 
self  outf" 

The  lieutenant  was  perplexed.  "There  is  no 
boat,"  he  said. 

"That's  not  the  question,"  Alf  proclaimed 
hotly.  "If  I  take  myself  out,  everybody's  sat 
isfied  and  no  harm  done?" 

"Yes;  what  you  say  is  true,"  persisted  the 
puzzled  lieutenant.  "But  you  cannot  take 
yourself  out." 

"You  just  watch  me,"  was  the  retort. 

Downmwent  Alf's  cap  on  the  office  floor. 
Eight  and  left  he  kicked  off  his  low-cut  shoes. 
Trousers  and  shirt  followed. 

"Eemember,"  he  said  in  ringing  tones,  "I, 


130  DUTCH  COURAGE 

as  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  shall  hold 
you,  the  city  of  Yokohama,  and  the  govern 
ment  of  Japan  responsible  for  those  clothes. 
Good  night. " 

He  plunged  through  the  doorway,  scattering 
the  astounded  boatmen  to  either  side,  and  ran 
out  on  the  pier.  'But  they  quickly  recovered 
and  ran  after  him,  shouting  with  glee  at  the 
new  phase  the  situation  had  taken  on.  It  was 
a  night  long  remembered  among  the  water-folk 
of  Yokohama  town.  Straight  to  the  end  Alf 
ran,  and,  without  pause,  dived  off  cleanly  and 
neatly  into  the  water.  He  struck  out  with  a 
lusty,  single- overhand  stroke  till  curiosity 
prompted  him  to  halt  for  a  moment.  Out  of 
the  darkness,  from  where  the  pier  should  be, 
voices  were  calling  to  him. 

He  turned  on  his  back,  floated,  and  listened. 

"All  right!  All  right!"  he  could  distin 
guish  from  the  babel.  "No  pay  now;  pay 
bime  by!  Come  back!  Come  back  now;  pay 
bime  by!" 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  called  back.  "No  pay 
at  all.  Good  night." 

Then  he  faced  about  in  order  to  locate  the 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  131 

Annie  Mine.  She  was  fully  a  mile  away,  and 
in  the  darkness  it  was  no  easy  task  to  get  her 
bearings.  First,  he  settled  upon  a  blaze  of 
lights  which  he  knew  nothing  but  a  man-of- 
war  could  make.  That  must  be  the  United 
States  war-ship  Lancaster.  Somewhere  to 
the  left  and  beyond  should  be  the  Annie  Mine. 
But  to  the  left  he  made  out  three  lights  close 
together.  That  could  not  be  the  schooner. 
For  the  moment  he  was  confused.  He  rolled 
over  on  his  back  and  shut  his  eyes,  striving  to 
construct  a  mental  picture  of  the  harbor  as 
he  had  seen  it  in  daytime.  "With  a  snort  of 
satisfaction  he  rolled  back  again.  The  three 
lights  evidently  belonged  to  the  big  English 
tramp  steamer.  Therefore  the  schooner  must 
lie  somewhere  between  the  three  lights  and  the 
'Lancaster.  He  gazed  long  and  steadily,  and 
there,  very  dim  and  low,  but  at  the  point  he 
expected,  burned  a  single  light— the  anchor- 
light  of  the  'Annie  Mine. 

And  it  was  a  fine  swim  under  the  starshine. 
The  air  was  warm  as  the  water,  and  the  water 
as  warm  as  tepid  milk.  The  good  salt  taste  of 
it  was  in  his  mouth,  the  tingling  of  it  along  his 


132  DUTCH  COURAGE 

limbs ;  and  the  steady  beat  of  his  heart,  heavy 
and  strong,  made  him  glad  for  living. 

But  beyond  being  glorious  the  swim  was  un 
eventful.  On  the  right  hand  he  passed  the 
many-lighted  Lancaster,  on  the  left  hand  the 
English  tramp,  and  ere  long  the  Annie  Mine 
loomed  large  above  him.»  He  grasped  the 
hanging  rope-ladder  and  drew  himself  noise 
lessly  on  deck.  There  was  no  one  in  sight. 
1  He  saw  a  light  in  the  galley,  and  knew  that  the 
captain's  son,  who  kept  the  lonely  anchor- 
watch,  was  making  coffee.  Alf  went  forward 
to  the  forecastle.!  The  men  were  snoring  in 
their  bunks,  and  in  that  confined  space  the 
heat  seemed  to  him  insufferable.  So  he  put 
on  a  thin  cotton  shirt  and  a  pair  of  dungaree 
trousers,  tucked  blanket  and  pillow  under  his 
arm,  and  went  up  on  deck  and  out  on  the  fore 
castle-head. 

Hardly  had  he  begun  to  doze  when  he  was 
roused  by  a  boat  coming  alongside  and  hailing 
the  anchor-watch.  It  was  the  police-boat,  and 
to  Alf  it  was  given  to  enjoy  the  excited  con 
versation  that  ensued.  Yes,  the  captain's  son 
recognized  the  clothes.  They  belonged  to  Alf 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  133 

Davis,  one  of  the  seamen.  What  had  hap 
pened?  No;  Alf  Davis  had  not  come  aboard. 
He  was  ashore.  He  was  not  ashore?  Then 
he  must  be  drowned.  Here  both  the  lieuten 
ant  and  the  captain's  son  talked  at  the  same 
time,  and  Alf  could  make  out  nothing.  Then 
he  heard  them  come  forward  and  rouse  out 
the  crew.  The  crew  grumbled  sleepily  and 
said  that  Alf  Davis  was  not  in  the  forecastle ; 
whereupon  the  captain's  son  waxed  indignant 
at  the  Yokohama  police  and  their  ways,  and 
the  lieutenant  quoted  rules  and  regulations  in 
despairing  accents. 

Alf  rose  up  from  the  forecastle-head  and  ex 
tended  his  hand,  saying: 

"I  guess  I'll  take  those  clothes.  Thank 
you  for  bringing  them  aboard  so  promptly." 

"I  don't  see  why  he  couldn't  have  brought 
you  aboard  inside  of  them,"  said  the  captain's 
son. 

And  the  police  lieutenant  said  nothing, 
though  he  turned  the  clothes  over  somewhat 
sheepishly  to  their  rightful  owner. 

The  next  day,  when  Alf  started  to  go  ashore, 
he  found  himself  surrounded  by  shouting  and 


134  DUTCH  COURAGE 

gesticulating,  though  very  respectful,  sampan 
men,  all  extraordinarily  anxious  to  have  him 
for  a  passenger.  Nor  did  the  one  he  selected 
say,  "You  pay  now,"  when  he  entered  his 
boat.  When  Alf  prepared  to  step  out  on  to  the 
pier,  he  offered  the  man  the  customary  ten 
sen.  But  the  man  drew  himself  up  and  shook 
his  head. 

"You  all  right,"  he  said.  "You  no  pay. 
You  never  no  pay.  You  bully  boy  and  all 
right." 

And  for  the  rest  of  the  Annie  Mine's  stay 
in  port,  the  sampan  men  refused  money  at 
Alf  Davis 's  hand.  Out  of  admiration  for  his 
pluck  and  independence,  they  had  given  him 
the  freedom  of  the  harbor. 


WHOSE  BUSINESS  IS  TO  LIVE 

STANTON  DAVIES  and  Jim  Wemple  ceased 
from  their  talk  to  listen  to  an  increase  of  up 
roar  in  the  street.  A  volley  of  stones 
thrummed  and  boomed  the  wire  mosquito  net 
tings  that  protected  the  windows.  It  was  a 
hot  night,  and  the  sweat  of  the  heat,  stood  on 
their  faces  as  they  listened.  Arose  the  inco 
herent  clamor  of  the  mob,  punctuated  by  indi-. 
vidual  cries  in  Mexican-Spanish.  Least  ter 
rible  among  the  obscene  threats  were:  " Death 
to  the  Gringos  I "-  "Kill  the  American  pigs!" 
"Drown  the  American  dogs  in  the  sea!" 

Stanton  Davies  and  Jim  Wemple  shrugged 

their  shoulders  patiently  to  each  other,  and 

resumed  their  conversation,  talking  louder  in 

Border  to  make   themselves  heard   above   the 

uproar. 

"The  question  is  how,"  Wemple  said.  "It's 
forty-seven  miles  to  Panuco,  by  river " 

"And  the  land's  impossible,  with  Zaragoza's 

185 


136  DUTCH  COURAGE    •  . 

and  Villa's  men  on  the  loot  and  maybe  frater 
nizing,"  Davies  agreed. 

Wemple  nodded  and  continued:  "And  she's 
at  the  East  Coast  Magnolia,  two  miles  beyond, 
if  she  isn't  back  at  the  hunting  camp.  We've 
got  to  get  her " 

"We've  played  pretty  square  in  this  mat 
ter,  Wemple, "  Davies  said.  "And  we  might 
as  well  speak  up  and  acknowledge  what  each 
of  us  knows  the  other  knows.  You  want  her. 
I  want  her." 

Wemple  lighted  a  cigarette  and  nodded. 

"And  now's  the  time  when  it's  up  to  us  to 
make  a  show  as  if  >ve  didn't  want  her  and  that 
all  we  want  is  just  to  save  her  and  get  her 
down  here." 

"And  a  truce  until  we  do  save  her — I  get 
you,"  Wempel  affirmed. 

"A  truce  until  we  get  her  safe  and  sound 
back  here  in  Tampico,  or  aboard  a  battleship. 
After  that  .  .  .?" 

Both  men  shrugged  shoulders  and  beamed 
on  each  other  as  their  hands  met  in  ratifica 
tion. 

Fresh  volleys  of  stones  thrummed  against 


VILLA'S  MEN  ABE  ON  THE  LOOT 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  137 

the  wire-screened  windows;  a  boy's  voice  rose 
shrilly  above  the  clamor,  proclaiming  death  to 
the  Gringos ;  and  the  house  reverberated  to  the 
heavy  crash  of  some  battering  ram  against  the 
street-door  downstairs.  Both  men,  snatching 
up  automatic  rifles,  ran  down  to  where  their 
fire  could  command  the  threatened  door. 

"If  they  break  in  weVe  got  to  let  them  have 
it,"  Wemple  said. 

Davies  nodded  quiet  agreement,  then  incon-" 
sistently  burst  out  with  a  lurid  string  of  oaths. 

"To  think  of  it!"  he  explained  his  wrath. 
"One  out  of  three  of  those  curs  outside  has 
worked  for  you  or  me — lean-bellied,  bare 
footed,  poverty-stricken,  glad  for  ten  centavos 
a  day  if  they  could  only  get  work.  And  weVe 
given  them  steady  jobs  and  a  hundred  and 
fifty  centavos  a  a  day,  and  here  they  are  yell 
ing  for  our  blood." 

"Only  the  half  breeds,"  Davies  corrected. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  Wemple  replied. 
"The  only  peons  we've  lost  are  those  that 
have  been  run  off  or  shot." 

The  attack  on  the  door  ceasing,  they  re 
turned  upstairs.  Half  a  dozen  scattered  shots 


138  DUTCH  COURAGE 

from  farther  along  the  street  seemed  to  draw 
away  the  mob,  for  the  neighborhood  became 
comparatively  quiet. 

A  whistle  came  to  them  through  the  open 
windows,  and  a  man's  voice  calling: 

"Wemple!  Open  the  door!  It's  Habert! 
Want  to  talk  to  you!" 

Wemple  went  down,  returning  in  several 
minutes  with  a  tidily-paunched,  well-built, 
gray-haired  American  of  fifty.  He  shook 
hands  with  Davies  and  flung  himself  into  a 
chair,  breathing  heavily.  He  did  not  relin 
quish  his  clutch  on  the  Colt's  44  automatic 
pistol,  although  he  immediately  addressed  him 
self  to  the  task  of  fishing  a  filled  clip  of  cart 
ridges  from  the  pocket  of  his  linen  coat.  He 
had  arrived  hatless  and  breathless,  and  the 
blood  from  a  stone-cut  on  the  cheek  oozed 
down  his  face.  He,  too,  in  a  fit  of  anger, 
springing  to  his  feet  when  he  had  changed 
clips  in  his  pistol,  burst  out  with  mouth-filling 
profanity. 

"They  had  an  American  flag  in  the  dirt, 
stamping  and  spitting  on  it.  And  they  told  me 
to  spit  on  it." 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  139 

Wemple  and  Davies  regarded  him  with  silent 
interrogation. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you're  wondering!"  he 
flared  out.  "Would  I  a-spit  on  it  in  the  pinch? 
That's  what's  eating  you.  I'll  answer. 
Straight  out,  brass  tacks,  I  WOULD.  Put 
that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it." 

He  paused  to  help  himself  to  a  cigar  from 
the  box  on  the  table  and  to  light  it  with  a 
steady  and  defiant  hand. 

"Hell! — I  guess  this  neck  of  the  woods 
knows  Anthony  Habert,  and  you  can  bank  on 
it  that  it's  never  located  his  yellow  streak. 
Sure,  in  the  pinch,  I'd  spit  on  Old  Glory. 
What  the  hell  d'ye  think  I'm  going  on  the 
streets  for  a  night  like  this?  Didn't  I  skin 
out  of  the  Southern  Hotel  half  an  hour  ago, 
where  there  are  forty  buck  Americans,  not 
counting  their  women,  and  all  armed?  That 
was  safety.  What  d'ye  think  I  came  here  for? 
— to  rescue  you?" 

His  indignation  lumped  his  throat  into  si 
lence,  and  he  seemed  shaken  as  with  an  apo 
plexy. 

"Spit  it  out,"  Davies  commanded  dryly. 


140  DUTCH  COURAGE 

"I'll  tell  you,"  Habert  exploded.  "It's 
Billy  Boy.  Fifty  miles  up  country  and  twenty- 
thousand  throat-cutting  federals  and  rebels 
between  him  and  me.  D'e  know  what  that 
boy'd  do,  if  he  was  here  in  Tampico  and  I 
was  fifty  miles  up  the  Panuco?  Well,  I  know. 
And  I'm  going  to  do  the  same — go  and  get 
him." 

"We're  figuring  on  going  up,"  Wemple  as 
sured  him. 

"And  that's  why  I  headed  here-— Miss 
Drexel,  of  course?" 

Both  men  acquiesced  and  smiled.  It  was  a 
time  when  men  dared  speak  of  matters  which 
at  other  times  tabooed  speech. 

"Then  the  thing's  to  get  started,"  Habert 
exclaimed,  looking  at  his  watch.  "It's  mid 
night  now.  We've  got  to  get  to  the  river  and 
get  a  boat " 

But  the  clamor  of  the  returning  mob  came 
through  the  windows  in  answer. 

Davies  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  tele 
phone  rang,  and  Wemple  sprang  to  the  instru 
ment. 

"It's  Carson,"  he  interjected,  as  he  listened. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  141 

"They  haven't  cut  the  wires  across  the  river 
yet. — Hello,  Carson.  Was  it  a  break  or  a  cut? 
...  Bully  for  you.  .  .  .  Yes,  move  the 
mules  across  to  the  potrero  beyond  Tamcochin. 
.  .  .  Who's  at  the  water  station?  .  .  .  Can 
you  still  'phone  him?  .  .  .  Tell  him  to  keep 
the  tanks  full,  and  to  shut  off  the  main  to 
Arico.  Also,  to  hang  on  till  the  last  minute, 
and  keep  a  horse  saddled  to  cut  and  run  for 
it.  Last  thing  before  he  runs,  he  must  jerk 
out  the  'phone.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  yes.  Sure.  No 
breeds.  Leave  full-blooded  Indians  in  charge. 
Gabriel  is  a  good  hombre.  Heaven  knows, 
once  we're  chased  out,  when  we'll  get  back. 
.  .  .  You  can't  pinch  down  Jaramillo  under 
twenty-five  hundred  barrels.  We've  got  stor 
age  for  ten  days.  Gabriel '11  have  to  handle  it. 
Keep  it  moving,  if  we  have  to  run  it  into  the 
river " 

"Ask  him  if  he  has  a  launch,"  Habert  broke 
in. 

"He  hasn't,"  was  Wemple's  answer.  "The 
federals  commandeered  the  last  one  at  noon." 

"Say,  Carson,  how  are  you  going  to  make 
your  get-away?"  Wemple  queried. 


142  DUTCH  COURAGE 

The  man  to  whom  he  talked  was  across  the 
Panuco,  on  the  south  side,  at  the  tank  farm. 

"Says  there  isn't  any  get-away, "  Wemple 
vouchsafed  to  the  other  two.  "The  federals 
are  all  over  the  shop,  and  he  can't  understand 
why  they  haven't  raided  him  hours  ago." 

"...  Who?  Campos?  That  skunk!  .  .  . 
all  right  .  .  .  Don't  be  worried  if  you  don't 
hear  from  me.  I'm  going  up  river  with 
Davies  and  Habert.  .  .  .  Use  your  judgment, 
and  if  you  get  a  safe  chance  at  Campos,  pot 
him.  .  .  .  Oh,  a  hot  time  over  here.  They're 
battering  our  doors  now.  Yes,  by  all  means 
.  .  .  Good-by,  old  man." 

Wemple  lighted  a  cigarette  and  wiped  his 
forehead. 

"You  know  Campos,  Jose  H.  Campos,"  he 
volunteered.  "The  dirty  cur's  stuck  Carson  up 
for  twenty  thousand  pesos.  We  had  to  pay, 
or  he'd  have  compelled  half  our  peons  to  enlist 
or  set  the  wells  on  fire.  And  you  know, 
Davies,  what  we've  done  for  him  in  past  years. 
Gratitude!  Simple  decency?  Great  Scott!" 

It  was  the  night  of  April  twenty-first.     On 


AND  OTHEB  STORIES  143 

the  morning  of  the  twenty-first  the  American 
marines  and  bluejackets  had  landed  at  Vera 
Cruz  and  seized  the  custom  house  and  the  city. 
Immediately  the  news  was  telegraphed,  the 
vengeful  Mexican  mob  had  taken  possession  of 
the  streets  of  Tampico  and  expressed  its  dis 
approval  of  the  action  of  the  United  States 
by  tearing  down  American  flags  and  crying 
death  to  the  Americans. 

There  was  nothing  save  its  own  spinelessness 
to  deter  the  mob  from  carrying  out  its  threat. 
Had  it  battered  down  the  doors  of  the  South 
ern  Hotel,  or  of  other  hotels,  or  of  residences 
such  as  Wemple's,  a  fight  would  have  started 
in  which  the  thousands  of  federal  soldiers  in 
Tampico  would  have  joined  their  civilian  com 
patriots  in  the  laudable  task  of  decreasing  the 
Gringo  population  of  that  particular  portion 
of  Mexico.  There  should  have  been  American 
warships  to  act  as  deterrents;  but  through 
some  inexplicable  excess  of  delicacy,  or  strat 
egy,  or  heaven  knows  what,  the  United  States, 
when  it  gave  its  orders  to  take  Vera  Cruz,  had 
very  carefully  withdrawn  its  warships  from 
Tampico  to  the  open  Gulf  a  dozen  miles  away. 


144  DUTCH  COURAGE 

This  order  had  come  to  Admiral  Mayo  by 
wireless  from  Washington,  and  thrice  he  had 
demanded  the  order  to  be  repeated,  ere,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  he  had  turned  his  back  on  his 
countrymen  and  countrywomen  and  steamed  to 
sea. 

"Of  all  asinine  things,  to  leave  us  in  the 
lurch  this  way!"  Habert  was  denouncing  the 
powers  that  be  of  his  country.  "Mayo'd 
never  have  done  it.  Mark  my  words,  he  had 
to  take  program  from  Washington.  And 
here  we  are,  and  our  dear  ones  scattered  for 
fifty  miles  back  up  country.  .  .  .  Say,  if  I 
lose  Billy  Boy  I'll  never  dare  go  home  to  face 
the  wife. — Come  on.  Let  the  three  of  us  make 
a  start.  We  can  throw  the  fear  of  God  into 
any  gang  on  the  streets. " 

"Come  on  over  and  take  a  squint, "  Davies 
invited  from  where  he  stood,  somewhat  back 
from  the  window,  looking  down  into  the 
street. 

It  was  gorged  with  rioters,  all  haranguing, 
cursing,  crying  out  death,  and  urging  one  an 
other  to  smash  the  doors,  but  each  hanging 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  145 

back  from  the  death,  he  knew  waited  behind 
those  doors  for  the  first  of  the  rush. 

"We  can't  break  through  a  bunch  like  that, 
Habert,"  was  Davies'  comment. 

"And  if  we  die  under  their  feet  we'll  be  of 
little  use  to  Billy  Boy  or  anybody  else  up  the 
Panuco,"  Wemple  added.  "And  if " 

A  new  movement  of  the  mob  caused  him  to 
break  off.  It  was  splitting  before  a  slow  and 
silent  advance  of  a  file  of  white-clad  men. 

"Bluejackets — Mayo's  come  back  for  us 
after  all,"  Habert  muttered. 

"Then  we  can  get  a  navy  launch, "  Davies 
said. 

The  bedlam  of  the  mob  died  away,  and,  in 
silence,  the  sailors  reached  the  street  door  and 
knocked  for  admittance.  All  three  went  down 
to  open  it,  and  to  discover  that  the  callers 
were  not  Americans  but  two  German  lieuten 
ants  and  half  a  dozen  German  marines.  At 
sight  of  the  Americans,  the  rage  of  the  mob 
rose  again,  and  was  quelled  by  the  grounding 
of  the  rifle  butts  of  the  marines. 

"No,  thank  you,"  the  senior  lieutenant,  in 
passable  English,  declined  the  invitation  to 


146  DUTCH  COURAGE 

enter.  He  unconcernedly  kept  his  cigar  alive 
at  such  times  that  the  mob  drowned  his  voice. 
"We  are  on  the  way  back  to  our  ship.  Our 
commander  conferred  with  the  English  and 
Dutch  commanders;  but  they  declined  to  co 
operate,  so  our  commander  has  undertaken  the 
entire  responsibility.  We  have  been  the  round 
of  the  hotels.  They  are  to  hold  their  own 
until  daybreak,  when  we'll  take  them  off.  We 
have  given  them  rockets  such  as  these. — Take 
them.  If  your  house  is  entered,  hold  your  own 
and  send  up  a  rocket  from  the  roof.  We  can 
be  here  in  force,  in  forty-five  minutes.  Steam 
is  up  in  all  our  launches,  launch  crews  and 
marines  for  shore  duty  are  in  the  launches, 
and  at  the  first  rocket  we  shall  start. " 

"Since  you  are  going  aboard  now,  we  should 
like  to  go  with  you,"  Davies  said,  after  hav 
ing  rendered  due  thanks. 

The  surprise  and  distaste  on  both  lieuten 
ants r  faces  was  patent. 

"Oh,  no,"  Davies  laughed.  "We  don't  want 
refuge.  We  have  friends  fifty  miles  up  river, 
and  we  want  to  get  to  the  river  in  order  to  go 
up  after  them." 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  147 

The  pleasure  on  the  officers'  faces  was  im 
mediate  as  they  looked  a  silent  conference  at 
each  other. 

"Since  our  commander  has  undertaken 
grave  responsibility  on  a  night  like  this,  may 
we  do  less  than  take  minor  responsibility?" 
queried  the  elder 

To  this  the  younger  heartily  agreed.  In  a 
trice,  upstairs  and  down  again,  equipped  with 
extra  ammunition,  extra  pistols,  and  a  pocket- 
bulging  supply  of  cigars,  cigarettes  and 
matches,  the  three  Americans  were  ready. 
Wemple  called  last  instructions  up  the  stair 
way  to  imaginary  occupants  being  left  behind, 
ascertained  that  the  spring  lock  was  on,  and 
slammed  the  door. 

The  officers  led,  followed  by  the  Americans, 
the  rear  brought  up  by  the  six  marines;  and 
the  spitting,  howling  mob,  not  daring  to  cast  a 
stone,  gave  way  before  them. 

As  they  came  alongside  the  gangway  of  tfce 
cruiser,  they  saw  launches  and  barges  lying 
in  strings  to  the  boat-booms,  filled  with  men, 
waiting  for  the  rocket  signal  from  the  be- 


148  DUTCH  COUKAGE 

leaguered  hotels.  A  gun  thundered  from  close 
at  hand,  up  river,  followed  by  the  thunder  of 
numerous  guns  and  the  reports  of  many  rifles 
fired  very  rapidly. 

"Now  what's  the  Topila  whanging  away 
at?"  Habert  complained,  then  joined  the 
others  in  gazing  at  the  picture. 

A  searchlight,  evidently  emanating  from  the 
Mexican  gunboat,  was  stabbing  the  darkness 
to  the  middle  of  the  river,  where  it  played  up 
on  the  water.  And  across  the  water,  the  cen 
ter  of  the  moving  circle  of  light,  flashed  a  long, 
lean  speedboat.  A  shell  burst  in  the  air  a 
hundred  feet  astern  of  it.  Somewhere,  out 
side  the  light,  other  shells  were  bursting  in  the 
water;  for  they  saw  the  boat  rocked  by  the 
waves  from  the  explosions.  They  could  guess 
the  whizzing  of  the  rifle  bullets. 

But  for  only  several  minutes  the  spectacle 
lasted.  Such  was  the  speed  of  the  boat  that  it 
gained  shelter  behind  the  German,  when  the 
Mexican  gunboat  was  compelled  to  cease  fire. 
The  speedboat  slowed  down,  turned  in  a  wide 
and  heeling  circle,  and  ranged  up  alongside 
the  launch  at  the  gangway. 


AND  OTHER  STOEIES  149 

The  lights  from  the  gangway  showed  but 
one  occupant,  a  tow-headed,  greasy-faced, 
blond  youth  of  twenty,  very  lean,  very  calm, 
very  much  satisfied  with  himself. 

"If  it  ain't  Peter  Tonsburg!"  Habert  ejacu 
lated,  reaching  out  a  hand  to  shake.  "  Howdy, 
Peter,  howdy.  And  where  in  hell  are  you  hell 
bent  for,  surging  by  the  Topila  in  such  scan 
dalous  fashion?" 

Peter,  a  Texas-born  Swede  of  immigrant 
parents,  filled  with  the  old  Texas  traditions, 
greasily  shook  hands  with  Wemple  and  Davies 
as  well,  saying  " Howdy,"  as  only  the  Texan 
born  can  say  it. 

"Me,"  he  answered  Habert.  "I  ain't  hell 
bent  nowhere  exceptin'  to  get  away  from  the 
shell-fire.  She's  a  caution,  that  Topila.  Huh! 
but  I  limbered  'em  up  some.  I  was  goin' 
every  inch  of  twenty-five.  They  was  like  ama 
teurs  blazin'  away  at  canvasback." 

"Which  Chill  is  it?"  Wemple  asked. 

"Chitt  II,"  Peter  answered.  "It's  all  that's 
left.  Chill  I  a  Greaser — you  know  'm — Campos 
— commandeered  this  noon.  I  was  runnin' 
Chill  III  when  they  caught  me  at  sundown. 


150  DUTCH  COURAGE 

Made  me  come  in  under  their  guns  at  the  East 
Coast  outfit,  and  fired  me  out  on  my  neck. 

"Now  the  boss'd  gone  over  in  this  one  to 
Tampico  in  the  early  evening,  and  just  about 
ten  minutes  ago  I  spots  it  landin'  with  a  sousy 
bunch  of  Federals  at  the  East  Coast,  and 
swipes  it  back  according.  Where's  the  boss? 
He  ain't  hurt,  is  he?  Because  I'm  going  after 
him." 

"No,  you're  not,  Peter,"  Davies  said.  "Mr. 
Frisbie  is  safe  at  the  Southern  Hotel,  all  ex 
cept  a  five-inch  scalp  wound  from  a  brick 
that's  got  him  down  with  a  splitting  head 
ache.  He's  safe,  so  you're  going  with  us, 
going  to  take  us,  I  mean,  up  beyond  Panuco 
town." 

"Huh? — I  can  see  myself,"  Peter  retorted, 
wiping  his  greasy  nose  on  a  wad  of  greasy 
cotton  waste.  "I  got  some  cold.  Besides,  this 
night-drivin'  ain't  good  for  my  complexion." 

"My  boy's  up  there,"  Habert  said. 

"Well,  he's  bigger 'n  I  am,  and  I  reckon  he 
can  take  care  of  himself." 

"And  there's  a  woman  there  —  Miss 
Drexel,"  Davies  said  quietly. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  151 

"Who?  Miss  Drexel?  Why  didn't  you  say 
so  at  first?"  Peter  demanded  grievedly.  He 
sighed  and  added,  "Well,  climb  in  an'  make 
a  start.  Better  get  your  Dutch  friends  to  do 
nate  me  about  twenty  gallons  of  gasoline  if 
you  want  to  get  any  where. " 

"Won't  do  you  no  good  to  lay  low,"  Peter 
Tonsburg  remarked,  as,  at  full  speed,  headed 
up  river,  the  Topila's  searchlight  stabbed 
them.  "High  or  low,  if  one  of  them  shells 
hits  in  the  vicinity — good  night!" 

Immediately  thereafter  the  Topila  erupted. 
The  roar  of  the  Chill's  exhaust  nearly 
drowned  the  roar  of  the  guns,  but  the  fragile 
hull  of  the  craft  was  shaken  and  rocked  by  the 
bursting  shells.  An  occasional  bullet  thudded 
into  or  pinged  off  the  Chill,  and,  despite 
Peter's  warning  that,  high  or  low,  they  were 
bound  to  get  it  if  it  came  to  them,  .every  man 
on  board,  including  Peter,  crouched,  with  chest 
contracted  by  drawn-in  shoulders,  in  an  in 
stinctive  and  purely  unconscious  effort  to  les 
sen  the  area  of  body  he  presented  as  a  target 
or  receptacle  for  flying  fragments  of  steel. 


152  DUTCH  COURAGE 

The  Topila  was  a  federal  gunboat.  To  com 
plicate  the  affair,  the  constitutionalists,  gath 
ered  on  the  north  shore  in  the  siege  of  Tam- 
pico,  opened  up  on  the  speedboat  with  many 
rifles  and  a  machine  gun. 

"Lord,  I'm  glad  they're  Mexicans,  and  not 
Americans,"  Habert  observed,  after  five  mad 
minutes  in  which  no  damage  had  been  re 
ceived.  "Mexicans  are  born  with  guns  in  their 
hands,  and  they  never  learn  to  use  them." 

Nor  was  the  Chill  or  any  man  aboard  dam 
aged  when  at  last  she  rounded  the  bend  of 
river  that  shielded  her  from  the  searchlight. 

"I'll  have  you  in  Panuco  town  in  less'n  three 
hours,  ...  if  we  don't  hit  a  log,"  Peter 
leaned  back  and  shouted  in  Wemple's  ear. 
"And  if  we  do  hit  driftwood,  I'll  have  you  in 
the  swim  quicker  than  that." 

Chill  II  tore  her  way  through  the  darkness, 
steered  by  the  tow-headed  youth  who  knew 
every  foot  of  the  river  and  who  guided  his 
course  by  the  loom  of  the  banks  in  the  dim 
starlight.  A  smart  breeze,  kicking  up  spiteful 
wavelets  on  the  wider  reaches,  splashed  them 
with  sheeted  water  as  well  as  fine-flung  spray. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  153 

And,  in  the  face  of  the  warmth  of  the  tropic 
night,  the  wind,  added  to  the  speed  of  the  boat, 
chilled  them  through  their  wet  clothes. 

"Now  I  know  why  she  was  named  the 
Chill,"  Habert  observed  betwixt  chattering 
teeth. 

But  conversation  languished  during  the 
nearly  three  hours  of  drive  through  the  dark 
ness.  Once,  by  the  exhaust,  they  knew  that 
they  passed  an  unlighted  launch  bound  down 
stream.  And  once,  a  glare  of  light,  near  the 
south  bank,  as  they  passed  through  the  To- 
reno  field,  aroused  brief  debate  as  to  whether 
it  was  the  Toreno  wells,  or  the  bungalow  on 
Merrick's  banana  plantation  that  flared  so 
fiercely. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour,  Peter  slowed  down 
and  ran  in  to  the  bank. 

"I  got  a  cache  of  gasoline  here — ten  gal 
lons,  "  he  explained,  "and  it's  just  as  well  to 
know  it's  here  for  the  back  trip."  Without 
leaving  the  boat,  fishing  arm-deep  into  the 
brush,  he  announced,  "All  hunky-dory."  He 
proceeded  to  oil  the  engine.  "Huh!"  he  so 
liloquized  for  their  benefit.  "I  was  just 


154  DUTCH  COURAGE 

readin'  a  magazine  yarn  last  night.  '  Whose 
Business  Is  to  Die,'  was  its  title.  An'  all  I 
got  to  say  is,  'The  hell  it  is.'  A  man's  busi 
ness  is  to  live.  Maybe  you  thought  it  was  our 
business  to  die  when  the  Topila  was  pepper- 
in'  us.  But  you  was  wrong.  We're  alive, 
ain't  we?  We  beat  her  to  it.  That's  the 
game.  Nobody's  got  any  business  to  die.  I 
ain't  never  goin'  to  die,  if  I've  got  any  say 
about  it." 

He  turned  over  the  crank,  and  the  roar  and 
rush  of  the  Chill  put  an  end  to  speech. 

There  was  no  need  for  Wemple  or  Davies  to 
speak  further  in  the  affair  closest  to  their 
hearts.  Their  truce  to  love-making  had  been 
made  as  binding  as  it  was  brief,  and  each 
rival  honored  the  other  with  a  firm  belief  that 
he  would  commit  no  infraction  of  the  truce. 
Afterward  was  another  matter.  In  the  mean 
time  they  were  one  in  the  effort  to  get  Beth 
Drexel  back  to  the  safety  of  riotous  Tampico 
or  of  a  war  vessel. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  they  passed  by 
Panuco  Town.  Shouts  and  songs  told  them 
that  the  federal  detachment  holding  the  place 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  155 

was  celebrating  its  indignation  at  the  landing 
of  American  bluejackets  in  Yera  Cruz.  Sen 
tinels  challenged  the  Chill  from  the  shore  and 
shot  at  random  at  the  noise  of  her  in  the 
darkness. 

A  mile  beyond,  where  a  lighted  river 
steamer  with  steam  up  lay  at  the  north  bank, 
they  ran  in  at  the  Apshodel  wells.  The 
steamer  was  small,  and  the  nearly  two  hundred 
Americans — men,  women,  and  children — 
crowded  her  capacity.  Blasphemous  greet 
ings  of  pure  joy  and  geniality  were  exchanged 
between  the  men,  and  Habert  learned  that 
the  steamboat  was  waiting  for  his  Billy  Boy, 
who,  astride  a  horse,  was  rounding  up  isolated 
drilling  gangs  who  had  not  yet  learned  that 
the  United  States  had  seized  Vera  Cruz  and 
that  all  Mexico  was  boiling. 

Habert  climbed  out  to  wait  and  to  go  down 
on  the  steamer,  while  the  three  that  remained 
on  the  'Chill,  having  learned  that  Miss  Drexel 
was  not  with  the  refugees,  headed  for  the 
Dutch  Company  on  the  south  shore.  This  was 
the  big  gusher,  pinched  down  from  one  hun 
dred  and  eighty-five  thousand  daily  barrels  to 


156  DUTCH  COURAGE 

the  quantity  the  company  was  able  to  handle. 
Mexico  had  no  quarrel  with  Holland,  so  that 
the  superintendent,  while  up,  with  night 
guards  out  to  prevent  drunken  soldiers  from 
firing  his  vast  lakes  of  oil,  was  quite  unemo 
tional.  Yes,  the  last  he  had  heard  was  that 
Miss  Drexel  and  her  brother  were  back  at  the 
hunting  lodge.  No ;  he  had  not  sent  any  warn 
ings,  and  he  doubted  that  anybody  else  had. 
Not  till  ten  o'clock  the  previous  evening  had 
he  learned  of  the  landing  at  Vera  Cruz.  The 
Mexicans  had  turned  nasty  as  soon  as  they 
heard  of  it,  and  they  had  killed  Miles  Forman 
at  the  Empire  Wells,  run  off  his  labor,  and 
looted  the  camp.  Horses?  No;  he  didn't  have 
horse  or  mule  on  the  place.  The  federals  had 
commandeered  the  last  animal  weeks  back.  It 
was  his  belief,  however,  that  there  were  a  cou 
ple  of  plugs  at  the  lodge,  too  worthless  even 
for  the  Mexicans  to  take. 

"It's  a  hike,"  Davies  said  cheerfully. 

"Six  miles  of  it,"  Wemple  agreed,  equally 
cheerfully.  "Let's  beat  it." 

A  shot  from  the  river,  where  they  had  left 
Peter  in  the  boat,  started  them  on  the  run  for 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  157 

the  bank\  A  scattering  of  shots,  as  from  two 
rifles,  followed.  And  while  the  Dutch  superin 
tendent,  in  execrable  Spanish,  shouted  affirma 
tions  of  Dutch  neutrality  into  the  menacing 
dark,  across  the  gunwale  of  Chill  II  they  found 
the  body  of  the  tow-headed  youth  whose  busi 
ness  it  had  been  not  to  die. 

For  the  first  hour,  talking  little,  Davies  and 
Wemple  stumbled  along  the  apology  for  a  road 
that  led  through  the  jungle  to  the  lodge.  They 
did  discuss  the  glares  of  several  fires  to  the 
east  along  the  south  bank  of  Panuco  River, 
and  hoped  fervently  that  they  were  dwellings 
and  not  wells. 

"Two  billion  dollars  worth  of  oil  right  here 
in  the  Ebano  field  alone,"  Davies  grumbled. 

"And  a  drunken  Mexican,  whose  whole 
carcass  and  immortal  soul  aren't  worth  ten 
pesos  including  hair,  hide,  and  tallow,  can 
start  the  bonfire  with  a  lighted  wad  of  cotton 
waste,"  was  Wemple  ?s  contribution.  "And 
if  ever  she  starts,  she'll  gut  the  field  of  its 
last  barrel." 

Dawn,  at  five,  enabled  them  to  accelerate 


158  DUTCH  COURAGE 

their  pace ;  and  six  o  'clock  found  them  routing 
out  the  occupants  of  the  lodge. 

" Dress  for  rough  travel,  and  don't  stop  for 
any  frills,"  Wemple  called  around  the  corner 
of  Miss  Drexel 's  screened  sleeping  porch. 

"Not  a  wash,  nothing,"  Davies  supple 
mented  grimly,  as  he  shook  hands  with  Char 
ley  Drexel,  who  yawned  and  slippered  up  to 
them  in  pajamas.  "Where  are  those  horses, 
Charley?  Still  alive?" 

Wemple  finished  giving  orders  to  the  sleepy 
peons  to  remain  and  care  for  the  place,  oc 
cupying  their  spare  time  with  hiding  the  more 
valuable  things,  and  was  calling  around  the 
corner  to  Miss  Drexel  the  news  of  the  capture 
of  Vera  Cruz,  when  Davies  returned  with  the 
information  that  the  horses  consisted  of  a 
pair  of  moth-eaten  skates  that  could  be  de 
pended  upon  to  lie  down  and  die  in  the  first 
half  mile. 

Beth  Drexel  emerged,  first  protesting  that 
under  no  circumstances  would  she  be  guilty  of 
riding  the  creatures,  and,  next,  her  brunette 
skin  and  dark  eyes  still  flushed  warm  with 
sleep,  greeting  the  two  rescuers. 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  159 

"It  would  be  just  as  well  if  you  washed  your 
face,  Stanton,"  she  told  Davies;  and,  to  Wem- 
ple:  "You're  just  as  bad,  Jim.  You  are  a 
pair  of  dirty  boys." 

"And  so  will  you  be,"  Wemple  assured  her, 
"before  you  get  back  to  Tampico.  Are  you 
ready?" 

"As  soon  as  Juanita  packs  my  hand  bag." 

"Heavens,  Beth,  don't  waste  time!"  ex 
claimed  Wemple.  "Jump  in  and  grab  up  what 
you  want." 

"Make  a  start — make  a  start,"  chanted 
Davies.  "Hustle!  Hustle! — Charley,  get  the 
rifle  you  like  best  and  take  it  along.  Get  a 
couple  for  us." 

"Is  it  as  serious  as  that?"  Miss  Drexel 
queried. 

Both  men  nodded. 

"The  Mexicans  are  tearing  loose,"  Davies 
explained.  "How  they  missed  this  place  I 
don't  know."  A  movement  in  the  adjoining 
room  startled  him.  "Who's  that?"  he  cried. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Morgan,"  Miss  Drexel  an 
swered. 

"Good    heavens,    Wemple,    I'd    forgotten 


160  DUTCH  COURAGE 

her/'  groaned  Davies.  "How  will  we  ever  get 
her  any  where  ?" 

"Let  Beth  walk,  and  relay  the  lady  on  the 
nags." 

"She  weighs  a  hundred  and  eighty,"  Miss 
Drexel  laughed.  "Oh,  hurry,  Martha!  We're 
waiting  on  you  to  start!" 

Muffled  speech  came  through  the  partition, 
and  then  emerged  a  very  short,  stout,  much- 
flustered  woman  of  middle  age. 

"I  simply  can't  walk,  and  you  boys  needn't 
demand  it  of  me,"  was  her  plaint.  "It's  no 
use.  I  couldn't  walk  half  a  mile  to  save  my 
life,  and  it's  six  of  the  worst  miles  to  the 
river." 

They  regarded  her  in  despair. 

"Then  you'll  ride,"  said  Davies.  "Come 
on,  Charley.  We'll  get  a  saddle  on  each  of 
the  nags." 

Along  the  road  through  the  tropic  jungle, 
Miss  Drexel  and  Juanita,  her  Indian  maid,  led 
the  way.  Her  brother,  carrying  the  three 
rifles,  brought  up  the  rear,  while  in  the  middle 
Davies  and  Wemple  struggled  with  Mrs.  Mor 
gan  and  the  two  decrepit  steeds.  One,  a  flea- 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  161 

bitten  roan,  groaned  continually  from  the  mo 
ment  Mrs.  Morgan's  burden  was  put  upon  him 
till  she  was  shifted  to  the  other  horse.  And 
this  other,  a  mangy  sorrel,  invariably  lay  down 
at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  Mrs. 
Morgan. 

Miss  Drexel  laughed  and  joked  and  encour 
aged;  and  Wemple,  in  brutal  fashion,  com 
pelled  Mrs.  Morgan  to  walk  every  third  quar 
ter  of  a  mile.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  sorrel 
refused  positively  to  get  up,  and,  so,  was  aban 
doned.  Thereafter,  Mrs.  Morgan  rode  the 
roan  alternate  quarters  of  miles,  and  between 
times  walked — if  walk  may  describe  her  stum 
bling  progress  on  two  preposterously  tiny 
feet  with  a  man  supporting  her  on  either 
side. 

A  mile  from  the  river,  the  road  became  more 
civilized,  running  along  the  side  of  a  thou 
sand  acres  of  banana  plantation. 

"Parslow's,"  young  Drexel  said.  "He'll 
lose  a  year's  crop  now  on  account  of  this  mix- 
up." 

"Oh,  look  what  I've  found!"  Miss  Drexel 
called  from  the  lead. 


162  DUTCH  COURAGE 

" First  machine  that  ever  tackled  this  road," 
was  young  Drexel's  judgment,  as  they  halted 
to  stare  at  the  tire-tracks. 

"But  look  at  the  tracks,"  his  sister  urged. 
"The  machine  must  have  come  right  out  of 
the  bananas  and  climbed  the  bank." 

"Some  machine  to  climb  a  bank  like  that," 
was  Davies'  comment.  "What  it  did  do  was 
to  go  down  the  bank — take  a  scout  after  it, 
Charley,  while  Wemple  and  I  get  Mrs.  Mor 
gan  off  her  fractious  mount.  No  machine  ever 
built  could  travel  far  through  those  bananas." 

The  flea-bitten  roan,  on  its  four  legs  up 
standing,  continued  bravely  to  stand  until  the 
lady  was  removed,  whereupon,  -  with  a  long 
sigh,  it  sank  down  on  the  ground.  Mrs.  Mor 
gan  likewise  sighed,  sat  down,  and  regarded 
her  tiny  feet  mournfully. 

"Go  on,  boys,"  she  said.  "Maybe  you  can 
find  something  at  the  river  and  send  back  for 
me." 

But  their  indignant  rejection  of  the  plan 
never  attained  speech,  for,  at  that  instant, 
from  the  green  sea  of  banana  trees  beneath 
them,  came  the  sudden  purr  of  an  engine.  A 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  163 

minute  later  the  splutter  of  an  exhaust  told 
them  the  silencer  had  heen  taken  off.  The 
huge-fronded  banana  trees  were  violently  agi 
tated  as  by  the  threshing  of  a  hidden  Titan. 
They  could  identify  the  changing  of  gears  and 
the  reversing  and  going  ahead,  until,  at  the 
end  of  five  minutes,  a  long  low,  black  car 
burst  from  the  wall  of  greenery  and  charged 
the  soft  earth  bank,  but  the  earth  was  too  soft, 
and  when,  two-thirds  of  the  way  up,  beaten, 
Charley  Drexel  braked  the  car  to  a  standstill, 
the  earth  crumbled  from  under  the  tires,  and 
he  ran  it  down  and  back,  the  way  he  had  come, 
until  half -buried  in  the  bananas. 

"'A  Merry  OldsmobileP  "  Miss  Drexel 
quoted  from  the  popular  song,  clapping  her 
hands.  "Now,  Martha,  your  troubles  are 
over." 

"Six-cylinder,  and  sounds  as  if  it  hadn't 
been  out  of  the  shop  a  week,  or  may  I  never 
ride  in  a  machine  again,"  Wemple  remarked, 
looking  to  Davies  for  confirmation. 

Davies  nodded. 

"It's  Allison's,"  he  said.  "Campos  tried  to 
shake  him  down  for  a  private  loan,  and — well, 


164  DUTCH  COURAGE 

you  know  Allison.  He  told  Campos  to  go  to. 
And  Campos,  in  revenge,  commandeered  his 
new  car.  That  was  two  days  ago,  before  we 
lifted  a  hand  at  Vera  Cruz.  Allison  told  me 
yesterday  the  last  he  'd  heard  of  the  car  it  was 
on  a  steamboat  bound  up  river.  And  here's 
where  they  ditched  it — but  let's  get  a  hustle 
on  and  get  her  into  the  running. " 

Three  attempts  they  made,  with  young 
Drexel  at  the  wheel;  but  the  soft  earth  and 
the  pitch  of  the  grade  baffled. 

" She's  got  the  power  all  right,"  young 
Drexel  protested.  "But  she  can't  bite  into  that 
mush." 

So  far,  they  had  spread  on  the  ground  the 
robes  found  in  the  car.  The  men  now  added 
their  coats,  and  Wemple,  for  additional  trac 
tion,  unsaddled  the  roan,  and  spread  the 
cinches,  stirrup  leathers,  saddle  blanket,  and 
bridle  in  the  way  of  the  wheels.  The  car  took 
the  treacherous  slope  in  a  rush,  with  churning 
wheels  biting  into  the  woven  fabrics ;  and,  with 
no  more  than  a  hint  of  hesitation,  it  cleared 
the  crest  and  swung  into  the  road. 

"Isn't  she  the  spunky  devil!"  Drexel  ex- 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  165 

lilted.  "Say,  she  could  climb  the  side  of  a 
house  if  she  could  get  traction. " 

"Better  put  on  that  silencer  again,  if  you 
don't  want  to  play  tag  with  every  soldier  in 
the  district/'  Wemple  ordered,  as  they  helped 
Mrs.  Morgan  in. 

The  road  to  the  Dutch  gusher  compelled  them 
to  go  through  the  outskirts  of  Panuco  town. 
Indian  and  half  breed  women  gazed  stolidly  at 
the  strange  vehicle,  while  the  children  and  bark 
ing  dogs  clamorously  advertised  its  progress. 
Once,  passing  long  lines  of  tethered  federal 
horses,  they  were  challenged  by  a  sentry;  but  at 
Wemple 's  "Throw  on  the  juice!"  the  car  took 
the  rutted  road  at  fifty  miles  an  hour.  A  shot 
whistled  after  them.  But  it  was  not  the  shot 
that  made  Mrs.  Morgan  scream.  The  cause  was 
a  series  of  hog-wallows  masked  with  mud, 
which  nearly  tore  the  steering  wheel  from 
Drexel's  hands  before  he  could  reduce  speed. 

"Wonder  it  didn't  break  an  axle,"  Davies 
growled.  "Go  on  and  take  it  easy,  Charley. 
We're  past  any  interference." 

They  swung  into  the  Dutch  camp  and  into 
the  beginning  of  their  real  troubles.  The 


166  DUTCH  COURAGE 

refugee  steamboat  had  departed  down  river 
from  the  Asphodel  camp;  Chill  II  had  disap 
peared,  the  superintendent  knew  not  how, 
along  with  the  body  of  Peter  Tonsburg;  and 
the  superintendent  was  dubious  of  their  re 
maining. 

"I've  got  to  consider  the  owners,"  he  told 
them.  "This  is  the  biggest  well  in  Mexico, 
and  you  know  it — a  hundred  and  eighty-five 
thousand  barrels  daily  flow.  I've  no  right 
to  risk  it.  We  have  no  trouble  with  the  Mexi 
cans.  It's  you  Americans.  If  you  stay  here, 
I'll  have  to  protect  you.  And  I  can't  protect 
you,  anyway.  We'll  all  lose  our  lives  and 
they'll  destroy  the  well  in  the  bargain.  And 
if  they  fire  it,  it  means  the  entire  Ebano  oil 
field.  The  strata's  too  broken.  We're  flowing 
twenty  thousand  barrels  now,  and  we  can't 
pinch  down  any  further.  As  it  is,  the  oil's 
coming  up  outside  the  pipe.  And  we  can't 
have  a  fight.  We've  got  to  keep  the  oil  mov 
ing." 

The  men  nodded.  It  was  cold-blooded  logic ; 
but  there  was  no  fault  to  it. 

The  harassed  expression  eased  on  the  super- 


AND  OTHER  STOEIES  167 

intendent's   face,   and  he   almost   beamed   on 
them  for  agreeing  with  him. 

"You've  got  a  good  machine  there,"  he  con 
tinued.  "The  ferry's  at  the  bank  at  Panuco, 
and  once  you're  across,  the  rebels  aren't  so 
thick  on  the  north  shore.  Why,  you  can  beat 
the  steamboat  back  to  Tampico  by  hours.  And 
it  hasn't  rained  for  days.  The  road  won't  be 
at  all  bad." 

"Which  is  all  very  good,"  Davies  observed 
to  Wemple  as  they  approached  Panuco,  "ex 
cept  for  the  fact  that  the  road  on  the  other 
side  was  never  built  for  automobles,  much  less 
for  a  long-bodied  one  like  this.  I  wish  it  were 
the  Four  instead  of  the  Six." 

"And  it  would  bother  you  with  a  Four  to  ne 
gotiate  that  hill  at  Aliso  where  the  road 
switchbacks  above  the  river." 

"And  we're  going  to  do  it  with  a  Six  or  lose 
a  perfectly  good  Six  in  trying,"  Beth  Drexel 
laughed  to  them. 

Avoiding  the  cavalry  camp,  they  entered 
Panuco  with  all  the  speed  the  ruts  permitted, 
swinging  dizzy  corners  to  the  squawking  of 


168  DUTCH  COURAGE 

chickens  and  barking  of  dogs.  To  gain  the 
ferry,  they  had  to  pass  down  one  side  of  the 
great  plaza  which  was  the  heart  of  the  city. 
Peon  soldiers,  drowsing  in  the  sun  or  clus 
tering  around  the  cantinas,  stared  stupidly  at 
them  as  they  flashed  past.  Then  a  drunken 
major  shouted  a  challenge  from  the  doorway 
of  a  cantina  and  began  vociferating  orders, 
and  as  they  left  the  plaza  behind  they  could 
hear  rising  the  familiar  mob-cry  "Kill  the 
Gringoes!" 

"If  any  shooting  begins,  you  women  get 
down  in  the  bottom  of  the  car,"  Davies  com 
manded.  "And  there's  the  ferry  all  right.  Be 
careful,  Charley. " 

The  machine  plunged  directly  down  the  bank 
through  a  cut  so  deep  that  it  was  more  like  a 
chute,  struck  the  gangplank  with  a  terrific 
bump,  and  seemed  fairly  to  leap  on  board. 
The  ferry  was  scarcely  longer  than  the  ma 
chine,  and  Drexel,  visibly  shaken  by  the  close 
ness  of  the  shave,  managed  to  stop  only  when 
six  inches  remained  between  the  front  wheels 
and  overboard. 

It  was  a  cable  ferry,  operated  by  gasoline, 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  169 

and,  while  Wemple  cast  off  the  mooring  lines, 
Davies  was  making  swift  acquaintance  with 
the  engine.  The  third  turn-over  started  it, 
and  he  threw  it  into  gear  with  the  windlass 
that  began  winding  up  the  cable  from  the 
river's  bottom. 

By  the  time  they  were  in  midstream  a  score 
of  horsemen  rode  out  on  the  bank  they  had 
just  left  and  opened  a  scattering  fire.  The 
party  crowded  in  the  shelter  of  the  car  and 
listened  to  the  occasional  richochet  of  a  bullet. 
Once,  only,  the  car  was  struck. 

"Here! — what  are  you  up  to!"  Wemple 
demanded  suddenly  of  Drexel,  who  had  ex 
posed  himself  to  fish  a  rifle  out  of  the  car. 

"Going  to  show  the  skunks  what  shooting 
is,"  was  his  answer. 

"No,  you  don 't, ' '  Wemple  said.  «  '  We  're  not 
here  to  fight,  but  to  get  this  party  to  Tam- 
pico."  He  remembered  Peter  Tonsburg's 
remark.  "Whose  business  is  to  live,  Charley 
— that's  our  business.  Anybody  can  get  killed. 
It's  too  easy  these  days." 

Still  under  fire,  they  moored  at  the  north 
shore,  and  when  Davies  had  tossed  overboard 


170  DUTCH  COURAGE 

the  igniter  from  the  ferry  engine  and  com 
mandeered  ten  gallons  of  its  surplus  gasoline, 
they  took  the  steep,  soft  road  up  the  bank  in 
a  rush. 

"Look  at  her  climb,"  Drexel  uttered  glee 
fully.  "That  Aliso  hill  won't  bother  us  at 
all.  She'll  put  a  crimp  in  it,  that's  what 
she'll  do." 

"It  isn't  the  hill,  it's  the  sharp  turn  of  the 
zig-zag  that's  liable  to  put  a  crimp  in  her," 
Davies  answered.  "That  road  was  never  laid 
out  for  autos,  and  no  auto  has  ever  been  over 
it.  They  steamboated  this  one  up." 

But  trouble  came  before  Aliso  was  reached. 
Where  the  road  dipped  abruptly  into  a  small 
jag  of  hollow  that  was  almost  V-shaped,  it 
arose  out  and  became  a  hundred  yards  of  deep 
sand.  In  order  to  have  speed  left  for  the  sand 
after  he  cleared  the  stiff  up-grade  of  the  V, 
Drexel  was  compelled  to  hit  the  trough  of  the 
V  with  speed.  Wemple  clutched  Miss  Drexel 
as  she  was  on  the  verge  of  being  bounced  out. 
Mrs.  Morgan,  too  solid  for  such  airiness, 
screamed  from  the  pain  of  the  bump ;  and  even 
the  imperturbable  Juanita  fell  to  crossing  her- 


AND  OTHEE  STORIES  171 

self  and  uttering  prayers  with  exceeding  ra 
pidity. 

The  car  cleared  the  crest  and  encountered 
the  sand,  going  slower  from  moment  to  mo 
ment,  slewing  and  writhing  and  squirming 
from  side  to  side.  The  men  leaped  out  and  be 
gan  shoving.  Miss  Drexel  urged  Juanita  out 
and  followed.  But  the  car  came  to  a  standstill, 
and  Drexel,  looking  back  and  pointing,  showed 
the  first  sign  of  being  beaten.  Two  things  he 
pointed  to:  a  constitutional  soldier  on  horse 
back  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  the  rear;  and  a 
portion  of  the  narrow  road  that  had  fallen  out 
bodily  on  the  far  slope  of  the  V. 

"Can't  get  at  this  sand  unless  we  go  back 
and  try  over,  and  we  ditch  the  car  if  we  try 
to  back  up  that." 

The  ditch  was  a  huge  natural  sump-hole,  the 
stagnant  surface  of  which  was  a-crawl  with 
slime  twenty  feet  beneath. 

Davies  and  Wemple  sprang  to  take  the  boy's 
place. 

"You  can't  do  it,"  he  urged.  "You  can 
get  the  back  wheels  past,  but  right  there  you 
hit  that  little  curve,  and  if  you  make  it  your 


172  DUTCH  COURAGE 

front  wheel  will  be  off  the  bank.  If  you  don't 
make  it,  your  back  wheePll  be  off." 

Both  men  studied  it  carefully,  then  looked 
at  each  other. 

"We've  got  to,"  said  Davies. 

"And  we're  going  to,"  Wemple  said,  shov 
ing  his  rival  aside  in  comradely  fashion  and 
taking  the  post  of  danger  at  the  wheel. 
"You're  just  as  good  as  I  at  the  wheel, 
Davies,"  he  explained.  "But  you're  a  better 
shot.  Your  job's  cut  out  to  go  back  and  hold 
off  any  Greasers  that  show  up." 

Davies  took  a  rifle  and  strolled  back  with  so 
ominous  an  air  that  the  lone  cavalryman  put 
spurs  to  his  horse  and  fled.  Mrs.  Morgan  was 
helped  out  and  sent  plodding  and  tottering 
unaided  on  her  way  to  the  end  of  the  sand 
stretch.  Miss  Drexel  and  Juanita  joined 
Charley  in  spreading  the  coats  and  robes  on 
the  sand  and  in  gathering  and  spreading  small 
branches,  brush,  and  armfuls  of  a  dry,  brittle 
shrub.  But  all  three  ceased  from  their  exer 
tions  to  watch  Wemple  as  he  shot  the  car 
backward  down  the  V  and  up.  The  car  seemed 
first  to  stand  on  one  end,  then  on  the  other, 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  173 

and  to  reel  drunkenly  and  to  threaten  to  turn 
over  into  the  sump-hole  when  its  right  front 
wheel  fell  into  the  air  where  the  road  had 
ceased  to  be.  But  the  hind  wheels  bit  and 
climbed  the  grade  and  out. 

Without  pause,  gathering  speed  down  the 
perilous  slope,  Wemple  came  ahead  and  up, 
gaining  fifty  feet  of  sand  over  the  previous 
failure.  More  of  the  alluvial  soil  of  the  road 
had  dropped  out  at  the  bad  place ;  but  he  took 
the  V  in  reverse,  overhung  the  front  wheel 
as  before,  and  from  the  top  came  ahead  again. 
Four  times  he  did  this,  gaining  each  time,  but 
each  time  knocking  a  bigger  hole  where  the 
road  fell  out,  until  Miss  Drexel  begged  him 
not  to  try  again. 

He  pointed  to  a  squad  of  horsemen  com 
ing  at  a  gallop  along  the  road  a  mile  in 
the  rear,  and  took  the  V  once  again  in  re 
verse. 

"If  only  we  had  more  stuff,"  Drexel 
groaned  to  his  sister,  as  he  threw  down  a 
meager,  hard-gathered  armful  of  the  dry  and 
brittle  shrub,  and  as  Wemple  once  more,  with 
rush  and  roar,  shot  down  the  V. 


174  DUTCH  COURAGE 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  that  the  great  car 
would  tnrn  over  into  the  sump,  but  the  next 
instant  it  was  past.  It  struck  the  bottom  of 
the  hollow  a  mighty  wallop,  and  bounced  and 
upended  to  the  steep  pitch  of  the  climb.  Miss 
Drexel,  seized  by  inspiration  or  desperation, 
with  a  quick  movement  stripped  off  her  short, 
corduroy  tramping- skirt,  and,  looking  very 
lithe  and  boyish  in  slender-cut  pongee  bloom 
ers,  ran  along  the  sand  and  dropped  the  skirt 
for  a  foothold  for  the  slowly  revolving  wheels. 
Almost,  but  not  quite,  did  the  car  stop,  then, 
gathering  way,  with  the  others  running  along 
side  and  shoving,  it  emerged  on  the  hard 
road. 

While  they  tossed  the  robes  and  coats  and 
Miss  DrexePs  skirt  into  the  bottom  of  the 
car  and  got  Mrs.  Morgan  on  board,  Davies 
overtook  them. 

"Down  on  the  bottom! — all  of  you!'1  he 
shouted,  as  he  gained  the  running  board  and 
the  machine  sprang  away.  A  scattering  of 
shots  came  from  the  rear. 

"Whose  business  is  to  live! — hunch  down!" 
Davies  yelled  in  Wemple's  ear,  accompanying 


AND  OTHER  STOEIES  175 

the  instruction  with  an  open-handed  blow  on 
the  shoulder. 

"Live  yourself, "  Wemple  grumbled  as  he 
obediently  hunched.  "Get  your  head  down. 
You're  exposing  yourself." 

The  pursuit  lasted  but  a  little  while,  and 
died  away  in  an  occasional  distant  shot. 

"They've  quit,"  Davies  announced.  "It 
never  entered  their  stupid  heads  that  they 
could  have  caught  us  on  Aliso  Hill." 

"It  can't  be  done,"  was  Charley  Drexel's 
quick  judgment  of  youth,  as  the  machine 
stopped  and  they  surveyed  the  acute-angled 
turn  on  the  stiff  up-grade  of  Aliso.  Beneath 
was  the  swift-running  river. 

"Get  out  everybody!"  Wemple  commanded. 
"Up-side,  all  of  you,  if  you  don't  want  the 
car  to  turn  over  on  you.  Spread  traction 
wherever  she  needs  it." 

"Shoot  her  ahead,  or  back — she  can't  stop," 
Davies  said  quietly,  from  the  outer  edge  of 
the  road,  where  he  had  taken  position.  "The 
earth's  crumbling  away  from  under  the  tires 
every  second  she  stands  still." 


176  DUTCH  COURAGE 

"Get  out  from  tinder,  or  she'll  be  on  top  of 
you,"  Wemple  ordered,  as  he  went  ahead  sev 
eral  yards. 

But  again,  after  the  car  rested  a  minute, 
the  light,  dry  earth  began  to  crack  and  crum 
ble  away  from  under  the  tires,  rolling  in  a 
miniature  avalanche  down  the  steep  declivity 
into  the  water.  And  not  until  Wemple  had 
backed  fifty  yards  down  the  narrow  road  did 
he  find  solid  resting  for  the  car.  He  came 
ahead  on  foot  and  examined  the  acute  angle 
formed  by  the  two  zig-zags.  Together  with 
Davies  he  planned  what  was-  to  be  done. 

"When  you  come  you've  got  to  come  a- 
humping, ' '  Davies  advised.  ' '  If  you  stop  any 
where  for  more  than  seconds,  it's  good  night, 
and  the  walking  won't  be  fine." 

' '  She 's  full  of  fight,  and  she  can  do  it.  See 
that  hard  formation  right  there  on  the  inside 
wall.  It  couldn't  have  come  at  a  better  spot. 
If  I  don't  make  her  hind  wheels  climb  half 
way  up  it,  we'll  start  walking  about  a  second 
thereafter." 

"She's  a  two-fisted  piece  of  machinery," 
Davies  encouraged.  "I  know  her  kind.  If 


"SHE'S     A     REGULAR     SPUNKY     SHE-DEVIL,"      MISS     DREXEL     AGREED 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  177 

she  can't  do  it,  no  machine  can  that  was  ever 
made.  Am  I  right,  Beth?" 

" She's  a  regular,  spunky  she-devil,"  Miss 
Drexel  laughed  agreement.  "And  so  are  the 
pair  of  you — er — of  the  male  persuasion,  I 
mean." 

Miss  Drexel  had  never  seemed  so  fascinating 
to  either  of  them  as  she  was  then,  in  the  ex 
citement  quite  unconscious  of  her  abbreviated 
costume,  her  brown  hair  flying,  her  eyes  spark 
ling,  her  lips  smiling.  Each  man  caught  the 
other  in  that  moment's  pause  to  look,  and  each 
man  sighed  to  the  other  and  looked  frankly 
into  each  other's  eyes  ere  he  turned  to  the 
work  at  hand. 

Wemple  came  up  with  his  usual  rush,  but  it 
was  a  gauged  rush;  and  Davies  took  the  post 
of  danger,  the  outside  running  board,  where 
his  weight  would  help  the  broad  tires  to  bite 
a  little  deeper  into  the  treacherous  surface. 
If  the  road-edge  crumbled  away  it  was  inevit 
able  that  he  would  be  caught  under  the  car 
as  it  rolled  over  and  down  to  the  river. 

It  was  ahead  and  reverse,  ahead  and  reverse, 
with  only  the  briefest  of  pauses  in  which  to 


178  DUTCH  COURAGE 

shift  the  gears.  Wemple  backed  up  the  hard 
formation  on  the  inside  bank  till  the  car 
seemed  standing  on  end,  rushed  ahead  till  the 
earth  of  the  outer  edge  broke  under  the  front 
tires  and  splashed  in  the  water.  Davies,  now 
off,  and  again  on  the  running  board  when 
needed,  accompanied  the  car  in  its  jerky  and 
erratic  progress,  tossing  robes  and  coats  under 
the  tires,  calling  instructions  to  Drexel  simi 
larly  occupied  on  the  other  side,  and  warning 
Miss  Drexel  out  of  the  way. 

"Oh,  you  Merry  Olds,  you  Merry  Olds,  you 
Merry  Olds,"  Wemple  muttered  aloud,  as  if 
in  prayer,  as  he  wrestled  the  car  about  the 
narrow  area,  gaming  sometimes  inches  in  piv 
oting  it,  sometimes  fetching  back  up  the  inner 
wall  precisely  at  the  spot  previously  attained, 
and,  once,  having  the  car,  with  the  surface  of 
the  roadbed  under  it,  slide  bodily  and  sidewise, 
two  feet  down  the  road. 

The  clapping  of  Miss  Drexel's  hands  was 
the  first  warning  Davies  received  that  the  feat 
was  accomplished,  and,  swinging  on  to  the  run 
ning  board,  he  found  the  car  backing  in  the 
straight-away  up  the  next  zig-zag  and  Wemple 


AND  OTHER  STORIES  17f 

still  chanting  ecstatically,  "Oh,  you  Merry 
Olds,  you  Merry  Olds!" 

There  were  no  more  grades  nor  zigzags  be 
tween  them  and  Tampico,  but,  so  narrow  was 
the  primitive  road,  two  miles  farther  were 
backed  before  space  was  found  in  which  to 
turn  around.  One  thing  of  importance  did  lie 
between  them  and  Tampico — namely  the  in 
vesting  lines  of  the  constitutionalists.  But 
here,  at  noon,  fortune  favored  in  the  form  of 
three  American  soldiers  of  fortune,  operators 
of  machine  guns,  who  had  fought  the  entire 
campaign  with  Villa  from  the  beginning  of  the 
advance  from  the  Texan  border.  Under  a 
white  flag,  Wemple  drove  the  car  across  the 
zone  of  debate  into  the  federal  lines,  where 
good  fortune,  in  the  guise  of  an  ubiquitous 
German  naval  officer,  again  received  them. 

"I  think  you  are  nearly  the  only  Americans 
left  in  Tampico,"  lie  told  them.  "About  all 
the  rest  are  lying  out  in  the  Gulf  on  the  dif 
ferent  warships.  But  at  the  Southern  Hotel 
there  are  several,  and  the  situation  seems 
quieter." 

As  they  got  out  at  the  Southern,  Davies  laid 


180  DUTCH  COURAGE 

his  hand  on  the  car  and  murmured,  "Good  old 
girl!"  Wemple  followed  suit.  And  Miss 
Drexel,  engaging  both  men's  eyes  and  about  to 
say  something,  was  guilty  of  a  sudden  moisture 
in  her  own  eyes  that  made  her  turn  to  the  car 
with  a  caressing  hand  and  repeat,  "Good  old 
girl!" 


I 

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